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.
Why can't the good guys ever finished first? It seems like the most manipulative, unmoved, and fake people become the most successful through their desires to hurt others. If you knew me well enough, you'd know that I can't stand fake people who "do not do the thing they most do show/Who, moving others, are themselves as stone." Why do they "inherit heaven's graces"? Why do the generous people of this world let them conquer it? In the end, I find no benefit in the shiny things that come from falseness, for "the sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds." Before calling the person beside us our best friend, we should learn what they're like when nobody is watching.
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| "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.
|
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....
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....
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