They rightly do inherit heaven's graces
And husband nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds
Lilies, that fester smell far worse than weeds.