112

Your loue and pittie doth th’impreſſion fill,
Which vulgar ſcandall ſtampt vpon my brow,
For what care I who calles me well or ill,
So you ore-greene my bad,my good alow?
You are my All the world,and I muſt ſtriue,
To know my ſhames and praiſes from your tounge,
None elſe to me,nor I to none aliue,
That my ſteel’d ſence or changes right or wrong,
In ſo profound Abiſme I throw all care
Of others voyces,that my Adders ſence,
To cryttick and to flatterer ſtopped are:
Marke how with my neglect I do diſpence.
   You are fo ſtrongly in my purpoſe bred,
   That all the world beſides me thinkes y’are dead,

Zie ook het online-facsimile van de oorspronkelijke uitgave (site helaas niet altijd bereikbaar).