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 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.