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 1ives 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