Act I, Scene 69

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• Shakespeare. Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
  Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;
  All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due, 955
  Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.
  Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd;
  But those same tongues that give thee so thine own
  In other accents do this praise confound
  By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. 960
  They look into the beauty of thy mind,
  And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds;
  Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes were kind,
  To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:
  But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, 965
  The solve is this, that thou dost common grow.