1 No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done:
2 Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
3 Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
4 And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
5 All men make faults, and even I in this,
6 Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
7 Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
8 Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;
9 For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense —
10 Thy adverse party is thy advocate —
11 And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence:
12 Such civil war is in my love and hate
13 That I an accessary needs must be
14 To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
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