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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