William Shakespeare. 1564–1616

Sonnet XXXV.

“No more be griev’d at that which thou hast done”

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