And yet (again)

Still struggling to catch up with work.  Today’s second sonnet:

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CXXXIV

  So, now I have confess'd that he is thine,

  And I my self am mortgag'd to thy will,

  Myself I'll 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 learn'd 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 putt'st 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.

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The turn is even later in this one, and it’s the and yet in the final line.  It pretty much doesn’t matter to Shakespeare where the metaphor comes from, he can always write it so well that it appears to be inevitable  J  More tomorrow.