Las partes que de ti presencia el mundo,
No hay halago que pueda embellecerlas;
Las lenguas todas (voces de las almas)
Respetan la verdad, aun si enemigas.
Tu figura exterior es coronada;
Con elogio exterior, mas esas lenguas
Hablan con acentos diferentes
Cuando miran no sólo con los ojos.
Sondean la belleza de tu alma
Y le miden de acuerdo con tus actos,
Y si antes te admiraban ahora añaden
A tu flor de belleza aromas agrios.
Tu perfume es indigno de tu aspecto
Porque creces rodeado de malezas.

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,
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.
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,
The soil is this, that thou dost common grow.