Sonnet 99. The forward violet thus did I chide

The forward violet thus did I chide

Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells

If not from my love's breath? The purple pride

Which on thy soft check for complexion dwells

In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.

The lily I condemned for thy hand

And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair

The roses fearfully on thorns did stand