When thou shalt be dispos’d to set me light,
And place my merit in the eye of scorn,
Upon thy side, against myself I’ll fight,
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn.
With mine own weakness, being best acquainted,
Upon thy part I can set down a story
Of faults conceal’d, wherein I am attainted;
That thou in losing me shalt win much glory:
And I by this will be a gainer too;
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee,
The injuries that to myself I do,
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
That for thy right, myself will bear all wrong.
In plain English
When you decide to dismiss me and hold my worth up to ridicule, I'll argue against myself on your behalf. I'll defend you as virtuous even though you've broken your promises. I know my own flaws better than anyone, so I can list them all as evidence of how much better off you'll be without me.
By giving up my reputation to protect yours, I gain too — my sacrifice becomes a form of power. Every wound I inflict on myself in your favor actually doubles back as a win for me, because my love gives everything I do for you a twisted logic.
That's the shape of my love: I belong to you so completely that I'll carry all the blame and shame, letting you walk away clean. My degradation is your triumph, and somehow that feels like enough.
