No more be grieved at that which thou hast done...
Sonnet 35No 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 accessary needs must be To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. |
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Don’t worry about what you’ve done any more. Roses have thorns, and fountains have mud. Botht he sun and moon suffer eclipses, and even the most beautiful bds might be infected with horrid canker.
Everyone has some fault, and I’m at fault myself: by making excuses for you, I’m tainting myself by mending your mistakes. I make more excuses for you than are even necessary, and use reasoning to excuse you sensual faults. Your opposition is your advocate, and I’m ending up lodging a plea against myself.
It’s like a civil war in here, because I find myself compelled to be an accessory to the thief who’s constantly robbing me.
Everyone has some fault, and I’m at fault myself: by making excuses for you, I’m tainting myself by mending your mistakes. I make more excuses for you than are even necessary, and use reasoning to excuse you sensual faults. Your opposition is your advocate, and I’m ending up lodging a plea against myself.
It’s like a civil war in here, because I find myself compelled to be an accessory to the thief who’s constantly robbing me.