Love betrayed

No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and aliver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
An loathsome canker lives in sweetes bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorising thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;
For t thy sensual fault I bring in sense -
Thy adverse party is thy advocate, -
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence:
Such civil wasis in my love and hate,
That I an accessary needs must be
To that swet thief which courly robs from me.

Shakespeare