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 knowst I love her;

And for my sake even so doth she abuse me

Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her.