Summer flower, lily, weed

Sonnets, [94]. “They that have pow’r to hurt and will do none,/ That do not do the thing they most do show,/ Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,/ Unmoved, 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 flow’r is to the summer sweet/ Though to itself it only live and die,/ But if that flow’r 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.”