1 Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
2 Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;
3 All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due,
4 Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.
5 Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd;
6 But those same tongues that give thee so thine own
7 In other accents do this praise confound
8 By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.
9 They look into the beauty of thy mind,
10 And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds;
11 Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes were kind,
12 To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:
13 But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,
14 The soil is this, that thou dost common grow.