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Sonnet 42: That thou hast her it is not all my grief

by
 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 I will excuse ye: Thou dost love her because thou know'st I love her, And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her.
If 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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