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,
Authórizing 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 áccessory needs must be
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
Neither Shakespeare nor thee may crime erase
Law is law— offenders do get their lot:
For crimes, faults and for trespass thou embrace,
No lover’s sonnet may erase such plot.
Roses’ thorns do sting them when the Law they break
And lawful plea may not be easily made.
Authorizing trespass is too much to stake,
No matter how much love thy lover(s) parade.
Give Law its due and life seems as simple
That way love may last longer than the Law.
The Law may thy loves, likes and hopes cripple
When thou breach the rules and the grundnorm’s lore.
Shakespeare may not ’gain be thy advocate
But a fellow felon and syndicate.
–William Shakespeare & Bolaji Ramos
Copyrighted
