Sonnet Cxii

William Shakespeare

     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 are dead.

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