Sonnet 95

How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame,

Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,

Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name.

O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!

That tongue that tells the story of thy days,

Making lascivious comments on thy sport,

Cannot dispraise; but in a kind of praise,

Naming thy name blesses an ill report.

O, what a mansion have those vices got,

Which for their habitation chose out thee,

Where beauty’s veil doth cover every blot,

And all things turn to fair that eyes can see!

Take heed (dear heart) of this large privilege;

The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.

How amorous you make disgrace,

Hiding the rot inside the rose,

Bringing the body to ecstasy so close

That no one cares or knows.

They talk about you in whispers,

Marveling still at your beauty,

Fantasizing about what occurs,

Forgetting it’s morally ugly.

What a palace have those vices

That take shape in your body,

Opulent, paying obscene prices,

Concealed in luxury.

Be careful (honey): poured too thick,

Even beauty can make one sick.