Your love and pity doth th' impression fill,Which vulgar scandal stamped 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 steeled sense or changes right or wrong.
In so profound abysm I throw all careOf 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 are dead.
