Sonnet 35: No More Be Grieved at That Which Thou Hast Done
No more be grieved 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, 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, And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence: Such civil war is in my love and hate That I an accessory needs must be To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. |
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