Shakespeare Sonnet 95

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How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame

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Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,

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Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!

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O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!

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That tongue that tells the story of thy days,

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Making lascivious comments on thy sport,

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Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise;

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Naming thy name blesses an ill report.

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O, what a mansion have those vices got

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Which for their habitation chose out thee,

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Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot,

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And all things turn to fair that eyes can see!

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Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;

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The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.