Weed, flower

The Rape of Lucrece, [869-875]. “Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring;/ unwholesome weeds take root with precious flow’rs;/ The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing;/ What virtue breeds iniquity devours./ We have no good that we can say is ours,/ But ill-annexed Opportunity/ Or kills his life or else his quality.”

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