Sonnet 42: That Thou Hast Her, it Is Not All My Grief
That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,
And yet, it may be said I loved her dearly.
That she hath thee is of my wailing chief:
A loss in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus will I excuse ye:
Thou dost love her, because thou knowst I love her,
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,
Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her.
When I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain,
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss;
Both find each other, and I lose both twain,
And both for my sake lay on me this cross.
But here's the joy: my friend and I are one.
Sweet flattery, then she loves but me alone.
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