Sonnet 42

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,

Suffering 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 flatt’ry! Then she loves but me alone.

That you have her now, though I loved her

Dearly, is not what hurts me most.

Now she has you, which gives me no more

Chance to show my love: this, painfully, I have lost.

You are my friend and loved her

Because I did. Friends’ loves are trusted.

And she loved you because I do too.

She let you get closer when I confessed it.

I won’t contest it and don’t feel blue.

If I’ve lost you, she’s gained a friend.

Having lost her to you, that loss is not wasted.

My love is yours now, so my loves both must end.

But count it joy: I feel this way is special.

It pleases me your new love is so graceful.