Sonnet 70

That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,

For slander’s mark was ever yet the fair;

The ornament of beauty is suspect,

A crow that flies in heaven’s sweetest air.

Yet do not so; but let your own eyes be

The judge of worth, and let the world debate;

And take thy praise with modesty and glee,

While others frown or envy at thy state.

The proud man’s fault is not in his allure,

But in the weakness of those who misread;

For he that’s fair must bear both fame and lure,

And bear it well, as virtue doth succeed.

In thee more life and majesty abide

Than envy, blame, or scorn could ever hide.