Sonnet 70
b"
That thou are blam'd 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.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time,
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days,
Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd,
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise
To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd:
\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show,
\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.