| YOUR love and pity doth the 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 | 5 |
| 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 other’s voices, that my adder’s sense | 10 |
| 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 methinks are dead. |