Sonnet 112 by William Shakespeare

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? 4

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. 8

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: 12

You are so strongly in my purpose bred

That all the world besides methinks are dead.