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No more bee greeu’d at that which thou haſt done,
Roſes haue thornes,and ſiluer fountaines mud,
Cloudes and eclipſes ſtaine both Moone and Sunne,
And loahtſome canker liues in ſweeteſt bud.
All men make faults,and euen I in this,
Authorizing thy treſpas with compare,
My ſelfe corrupting ſaluing thy amiſſe,
Excuſing their ſins more then their ſins are:
For to thy ſenſuall fault I bring in ſence,
Thy aduerſe party is thy Aduocate,
And gainſt my ſelfe a lawfull plea commence,
Such ciuill war is in my loue and hate,
   That I an acceſſary needs muſt be,
   To that ſweet theefe which ſourely robs from me,

Zie ook het online-facsimile van de oorspronkelijke uitgave (site helaas niet altijd bereikbaar).