| | Sonnet 42 |
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That thou hast her it is not all my grief, |
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And yet it may be said I loved her dearly; |
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That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, |
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A loss in love that touches me more nearly. |
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Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye: |
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Thou dost love her because thou knowst I love her; |
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And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, |
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Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her. |
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If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, |
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And losing her, my friend hath found that loss; |
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Both find each other, and I lose both twain, |
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And both for my sake lay on me this cross. |
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But here's the joy; my friend and I are one; |
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Sweet flatt'ry! Then she loves but me alone. |
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| Sonnet 42 |
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The fact that you now have my mistress isn't the only reason I'm hurt, though it's true that I loved her dearly. What makes me cry the most is that now she has you, a loss of love that hurts me even more. You two criminals in love, here's how I'll rationalize the pain you've caused me: You, friend, love her because you know I love her. And she loves you for the exact same reason, putting up with your praises and lovemaking for my sake, because she knows you're my friend. If I lose you, it's a win for my mistress. And if I lose her, you will have found what I've lost. Both of the people I love find each other, and I lose them both, and both cause me this pain. But here's what makes me happy: My friend and I are one person. How gratifying!—It turns out my mistress loves only me. |
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