Sonnet 40, by NY Shakespeare Exchange

Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.
Then, if for my love, thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;
But yet be blam'd, if thou thy self deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty:
And yet, love knows it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury.
     Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
     Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes.

Sonnet 40, from The Sonnet Project, by the New York Shakespeare Exchange.

Bridget Crawford as the speaker is despondent, even bitter, yet in the end pleads for a practical bargain: That of friendship, if not romance.  It's a curious dramatization, though, isn't it.  Whom, or what, does the younger lady represent?  Maybe Shakespeare, who is the conduit for the lover to speak her despondency and bitterness.