Were't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which proves more short than waste or ruining?
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent
For compound sweet forgoing simple savour,
Pitiful thrivers in their gazing spent?
No, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
Which is not mixed with seconds, knows no art
But mutual render, only me for thee.
Hence, thou suborned informer, a true soul
When most impeached stands least in thy control.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 99: The Forward Violet Thus Did I Chide
- Sonnet 49: Against That Time, If Ever That Time Come
- Sonnet 42: That Thou Hast Her, It Is Not All My Grief
- Sonnet 13: O, That You Were Your Self! But, Love, You Are
- Sonnet 58: That God Forbid, That Made Me First Your Slave