For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
Or else receivst with pleasure thine annoy?
But in the onset come: so shall I taste
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
O! him she stores, to show what wealth she had
The eyes, fore duteous, now converted are
Which works on leases of short-numberd hours,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
And the firm soil win of the watery main,
Generated at Language Is A Virus