Sonnet #70

Sonnet LXX

by William Shakespeare

That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, for slander's mark was ever yet the fair; the ornament of beauty is suspect, a crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.

So thou be good, slander doth but approve thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time; for canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, and thou present'st a pure unstained prime.

Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days, either not assail'd or victor being charged; yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, to tie up envy evermore enlarged:

If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show, then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.

Sonnet #70

translation by ModCon Shakespeare

The endless slander you’ve suffered doesn’t hurt your reputation, my dear; it’s the business of beautiful people to be hit with jealous attention and fear.

So you stay good, and the worse they say about you, the better you will seem; dirty hands love wiping themselves on pure white towels, but you will remain out of their reach.

You’ve survived youth without destroying yourself, stayed away from all trouble and vice. But somehow, instead of receiving a reward, you’ve become the ultimate prize.

If the world knew the real you, not the one that they taunt, then you would be the only one anyone in the world could want.