Teus marmóreos seios > No more be griev’d 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.