The Sonnets XLII - 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.
If I lose thee, my loss is my loves 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 heres the joy; my friend and I are one;
Sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone.

William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare was an English playwright, poet, and actor, regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's greatest dramatist. Known as the 'Bard of Avon,' his extant works include approximately 39 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and a few other verses. His plays have been translated into every major living language and are performed more often than those of any other playwright.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CXV - Those lines that I before have writ do lie

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets XXXIX - O! how thy worth with manners may I sing

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets CXIX - What potions have I drunk of Siren tears

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets CXLIX - Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Sonnets XL - Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all

Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.
Then, if for my love, thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamd, if thou thy self deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty:
And yet, love knows it is a greater grief
To bear greater wrong, than hates known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XXXI - Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead;
And there reigns Love, and all Loves loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stoln from mine eye,
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things removd that hidden in thee lie!
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give,
That due of many now is thine alone:
Their images I lovd, I view in thee,
And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CXXXIII - Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me!
Ist not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my sweetst friend must be?
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
And my next self thou harder hast engrossd:
Of him, myself, and thee I am forsaken;
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossd:
Prison my heart in thy steel bosoms ward,
But then my friends heart let my poor heart bail;
Whoeer keeps me, let my heart be his guard;
Thou canst not then use rigour in my jail:
And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CXXXIV - So, now I have confessd that he is thine

So, now I have confessd that he is thine,
And I my self am mortgagd to thy will,
Myself Ill forfeit, so that other mine
Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still:
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
For thou art covetous, and he is kind;
He learnd but surety-like to write for me,
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Thou usurer, that puttst forth all to use,
And sue a friend came debtor for my sake;
So him I lose through my unkind abuse.
Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me:
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CXLIX - Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not

Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
When I against myself with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend,
On whom frownst thou that I do fawn upon,
Nay, if thou lourst on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
What merit do I in my self respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind,;
Those that can see thou lovst, and I am blind.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets LXXIX - Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid

Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace;
But now my gracious numbers are decayd,
And my sick Muse doth give an other place.
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen;
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent
He robs thee of, and pays it thee again.
He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word
From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give,
And found it in thy cheek: he can afford
No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live.
Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
Since what he owes thee, thou thyself dost pay.

William Shakespeare