Weed and Flower

Sonnet, [69]. “Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view/ Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;/ All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due,/ Utt’ring bare truth, even so as foes commend./ Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown’d,/ But those same tongues that give thee so thine own/ In other accents do this praise confound/ By seeing farther than the eye hath shown./ They look in the beauty of thy mind/ And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds;/ Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes were kind,/ To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds./ By why thy odor matcheth not thy show,/ The soil is this, that thou dost common grow.”