Sonnet 112

1 Your love and pity doth th’ impression fill,
2 Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow,
3 For what care I who calls me well or ill,
4 So you o’er-green my bad, my good allow?
5 You are my all the world, and I must strive,
6 To know my shames and praises from your tongue,
7 None else to me, nor I to none alive,
8 That my steeled sense or changes right or wrong.
9 In so profound abysm I throw all care
10 Of others’ voices, that my adder’s sense,
11 To critic and to flatterer stopped are:
12 Mark how with my neglect I do dispense.
13 You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
14 That all the world besides methinks are dead.