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