SOme say thy fault is youth, some wantoness, Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport, Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and less: Thou mak'st faults graces, that to thee resort: As on the finger of a throned Queen, The basest Jewel will be well esteem'd: So are those errors that in thee are seen, To truths translated, and for true things deem'd.
How many Lambs might the stern Wolf betray, If like a Lamb he could his looks translate.
How many gazers mightst thou lead away, If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state ?
But do not so, I love thee in such sort, As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.