Naj tvoja dela te ne žalosté:

na rožah trn je, blaten je vodnjak,

nam sonce, luno, včasih mrk zastre

in črv ujeda v popek se sladak.

Vsak nas se moti, tudi tukaj jaz,

ko s primero zdravim tvoje zlo,

ko kvarim sebe za tvoj boljši glas,

z vzroki za pregreho več kot vso:

saj ti mesa grehoto razložim –

nasprotnik tvoj je hkrati advokat –

in proti sebi tožbo vložim:

med čustvi pa je v meni tak spopad,

da tudi meni del sokrivde gre,

ko sladki tat grenkó oropa me.

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 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.

tripike