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 flower is to the summer sweet
Though to itself, it only live and die
But if that flower with base infection meet
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
    For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
    Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds