Ugliness is native unto nothing, but an attribute of concrete evil;
In everything created, at its worst, lurk the dregs of loveliness:
We be fallen into utter depths, yet once we stood sublime,
For man was made in perfect praise, his Maker's comely image:
And so his new-born ill is spiced with older good,
He carrieth with him, yea to crime, the withered limbs of beauty.
Passions may be crooked generosities; the robber stealeth for his children;
Murder was avenger of the innocent, or wiped out shame with blood.
Many virtues, weighted by excess, sink among the vices;
Many vices, amicably buoyed, float among the virtues.