I know you all, and will awhile uphold 
 The unyoked humour of your idleness: 
 Yet herein will I imitate the sun, 
 Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
 To smother up his beauty from the world, 
 That, when he please again to be himself, 
 Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, 
 By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
 Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. 
 If all the year were playing holidays, 
 To sport would be as tedious as to work; 
 But when they [bad word]  they wish'd [bad word]  
 And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 
 So, when this loose behavior I throw off 
 And pay the debt I never promised, 
 By how much better than my word I am, 
 By so much shall I falsify men's hopes; 
 And like bright metal on a sullen ground, 
 My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, 
 Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes 
 Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 
 I'll so offend, to make offence a skill; 
 Redeeming time when men think least I will.