Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not love’s sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love’s delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
In plain English
We have to live apart, even though our love is genuine and unified. This way, the shame and damage that clings to me stays with me alone—you won't be dragged down by my mistakes.
Our feelings for each other are pure and singular, but circumstance forces us to keep distance. It's not that this changes what we feel, just that it steals away the open joy we could have had together.
I can't publicly claim you as mine, because my reputation would hurt yours. And you can't openly show kindness to me without risking your own good name. So I'm asking you to stay silent—not because I don't love you, but because your honour matters more to me than being seen with you.
