Sonnet XCIX

The forward violet thus did I chide:	1
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,	2
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride	3
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells	4
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.	5
The lily I condemned for thy hand,	6
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair:	7
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,	8
One blushing shame, another white despair;	9
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both	10
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath;	11
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth	12
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.	13
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see	14
But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.	15