Sonnet 35
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.