Sonnet 133
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groanFor that deep wound it gives my friend and me;Is't not enough to torture me alone,But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
Me from my self thy cruel eye hath taken,And my next self thou harder hast engrossed;Of him, my self, and thee I am forsaken,A torment thrice threefold thus to be crossed.
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward,But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail;Whoe'er 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.