Sonnet 142

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,

Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving.

O, but with mine compare thou thine own state,

And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;

Or if it do, not from those lips of thine,

That have profaned their scarlet ornaments

And seal’d false bonds of love as oft as mine,

Robb’d others’ beds’ revenues of their rents.

Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov’st those

Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee.

Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows,

Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.

If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,

By self-example mayst thou be denied.

You say I am sinful, what I want, offensive,

And reject me on those grounds, taking no trouble

To compare my life with the life you live

Or consider my love just as valuable.

And we are both guilty, we know, of betrayal.

We see it, don’t we, in each other’s eyes?

How many the ways over love we prevail,

You when stealing, I when I fantasize?

Surely I love you as much as you love those

You like to seduce with low lying eyes.

Why not spare me like some future rose

That you might wish, one day, was yours?

If you won’t share what you call your own,

Some day, it follows, you should too be alone.