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'ergreen 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 care
Of others' voices that my adder's sense
To critic and to flatterer stoppèd 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.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- The Blossom
- Sonnet 153: Cupid Laid By His Brand And Fell Asleep
- Sonnet 132: Thine Eyes I Love, And They, As Pitying Me
- Sonnet 27: Weary With Toil, I Haste Me To My Bed
- Sonnet 119: What Potions Have I Drunk Of Siren Tears