Sonnet 42

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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