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
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, methinks y` are dead.