Quienes pueden herir y no lo hacen,
Y el acto que aparentan no ejecutan,
Quienes, pétreos, conmueven a los otros
Mas son fríos, serenos e impasibles;
Bien emplean las dádivas del cielo,
No derrochan los bienes de Natura;
Son dueños y señores de sus rostros,
Los otros, meros siervos de sus dones.
La flor es la dulzura del estío
Aunque ella viva y muera sin saberlo,
Mas apenas la flor se contamina
La maleza más vil es más airosa.
Pues se torna más rancio lo más dulce:
Nada hiede peor que el lirio enfermo.

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.