The speaker tells his beloved to go ahead and take everything—all his loves—then immediately questions what the beloved actually gains. All of the speaker’s love was already freely given before this new betrayal, so there’s no true addition. He can’t blame the beloved for taking what was offered, but he still sees a kind of self-deception: pursuing a pleasure that deep down the beloved himself refuses. The tone is tangled, full of painful logic where forgiveness and accusation sit side by side.
That tense mix defines the whole sonnet. The speaker forgives this “gentle thief” for robbing him of his “poverty,” admitting that a lover’s wrong hurts far more than a hateful enemy’s injury. Even as he calls the beloved “lascivious grace”—someone who makes vice look beautiful—and feels killed by spiteful acts, he refuses to become enemies. It’s a mood of tender devastation, where love persists despite everything.