Sonnet 94

They that have power to hurt and will do none,

That do not do the thing they most do show,

Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,

Unmovèd, cold, and to temptation slow:

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’s 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.

Those who are seen as ugly

But are gentle in their hearts,

And become objects of cruelty

But never play those parts—

Blessèd are they in the eyes of God,

And live to receive His graces.

While summer dreamt and winter toiled,

Joy was constant in their faces.

Summer’s flower has summer’s ease,

Even if for the Kingdom it does nothing.

But if its heart is a disease,

Its ugly is more glaring.

Higher things go further lower.

Sweet deceit is worse than sour.