1 The forward violet thus did I chide:
2 Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
3 If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
4 Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
5 In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd.
6 The lily I condemned for thy hand,
7 And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair:
8 The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
9 [One] blushing shame, another white despair;
10 A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both
11 And to his robb'ry had annex'd thy breath;
12 But for his theft in pride of all his growth
13 A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
14 More flowers I noted, yet I none could see
15 But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.