Sonnet XXXV, by
William Shakespeare
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,
Authorizing 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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