Why presumes thy pride on that that must so private be

Why presumes thy pride on that that must so private be,
Scarce that it can good be called, though it seems best to thee,
Best of all that Nature framed or curious eye can see?

'Tis thy beauty, foolish Maid, that like a blossom, grows;
Which who views no more enjoys than on a bush a rose,
That, by many's handling, fades: and thou art one of those.

If to one thou shalt prove true and all beside reject,
Then art thou but one man's good; which yields a poor effect:
For the commonest good by far deserves the best respect.

But if for this goodness thou thyself wilt common make,
Thou art then not good at all: so thou canst no way take
But to prove the meanest good or else all good forsake.

Be not then of beauty proud, but so her colours bear
That they prove not stains to her, that them for grace should wear:
So shalt thou to all more fair than thou wert born appear.