67.

Those parts of tree that world's eye doth view
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;
All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due,
Utt'ring bare truth, even so as foes commend:
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crowned.
But those same tongues that give thee so thine own
In other accents do this praise confound
By seeing further than the eye hath shown;
They look into the beauty of thy mind,
And that in guess they measure by thy deeds;
Then churls thier 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 comon grow.


arrisco-me a criar em inglês.
PS: sou o do meio.