Sonnet XLII

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 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 flattery! then she loves but me alone.

This is the last in the trilogy of sonnets devoted to the youth’s betrayal of the poet by stealing his mistress. It was traditional that the sonneteer should find excuses for the beloved’s behaviour. Her purity (for it was usually a woman) and innaccesibility were part of a higher ideal and she could not bend herself to earthly love. The poet therefore had to justify her aloofness and her cold chastity.
Here the poet has to justify infidelity, a far more difficult task, and set against the background that the beloved should be irreproachable, the traditions of sonnet writing are wittily parodied.

Nevertheless there lingers a bitter aftertaste, for despite all the sophistry of excuse and justification, the poet is left to mull over his loss, and the joy and sweet flattery which he claims to find in the concluding couplet ring hollow. They sound very much like gratuitous and foolish self deception. The beloved has everything and his lover, the poet, must content himself with the shadow of a love, a love who has betrayed him and found joy and consolation in the arms of another.