Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport;
Both grace and faults are lov’d of more and less:
Thou mak’st faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen
The basest jewel will be well esteem’d,
So are those errors that in thee are seen
To truths translated, and for true things deem’d.
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray,
If like a lamb he could his looks translate!
How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state!
But do not so; I love thee in such sort,
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
In plain English
People argue about you endlessly. Some blame your youth for your recklessness; others say youth itself is what makes you charming. The truth is, people love both your faults and your gifts equally—and you have this strange power to turn your mistakes into something admirable.
A cheap jewel glows on a queen's finger just because she's wearing it. Your flaws work the same way: people see them and decide they're actually virtues, proof of your honesty or boldness or spirit. You could destroy people if you wanted to. If a wolf could wear a lamb's face, how many flocks would it slaughter? You have that kind of power over people's hearts.
But you don't use it that way, and that's why I love you. My own reputation rests on yours. Your honour is my honour. That loyalty is worth more to me than any conquest you could make.
