“They that have power 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 sweetThough 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;Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.”

“For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.”

“The summer's flower is to the summer sweetThough to itself it only live and die”

“Others there are who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, and, throwing but shows of service on their lords, do well thrive by them and when they have lin'd their coats do themselves homage. These fellows have some soul and such a one do I profess myself...In following him, I follow but myself; heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end”

“On the bat’s back I do flyAfter summer merrily.”

“Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;Who, though they cannot answer my distress,Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes,For that they will not intercept my tale:When I do weep, they humbly at my feetReceive my tears and seem to weep with me;And, were they but attired in grave weeds,Rome could afford no tribune like to these.”

“Small herbs have grace, great weeds to grow apace.”