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| SONNET 70 |
| That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, |
| For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; |
| The ornament of beauty is suspect, |
| A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. |
| So thou be good, slander doth but approve |
| Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time; |
| For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, |
| And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. |
| Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days, |
| Either not assail'd or victor being charged; |
| Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, |
| To tie up envy evermore enlarged: |
| If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show, |
| Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe. |
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