Your love and pity doth th' impression fill
1
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
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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
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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
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That all the world besides methinks are dead.