No more be grieved at that which thou hast done

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.



Credits
Writer(s): Mario Castelnuovo Tedesco, William Shakespeare
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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