YOur love and pity doth th'impression fill, Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow, For what care I who calls me well or ill, So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow ?
You are my All the world, and I must strive, To know my shames and praises from your tongue, None else to me, nor I to none alive, That my steel'd sense or changes right or wrong, In so profound Abysm I throw all care Of others' voices, that my Adder's sense, To critic and to flatterer stopped are: Mark how with my neglect I do dispense.
You are so strongly in my purpose bred, That all the world besides me thinks y'are dead.
