William Shakespeare. 1564–1616

Sonnet CXXV.

“Were ’t aught to me I bore the canopy”

WERE ’t aught to me I bore the canopy  
With my extern the outward honouring,  
Or laid great bases for eternity,  
Which prove more short than waste or ruining?  
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour    5
Lose all and more by paying too much rent,  
For compound sweet foregoing simple savour  
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent?  
No; let me be obsequious in thy heart,  
And take thou my oblation, poor but free,   10
Which is not mix’d with seconds, knows no art,  
But mutual render, only me for thee.  
  Hence, thou suborn’d informer! a true soul  
  When most impeach’d stands least in thy control.