Sonnet 99

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