Sonnet 112

　　Your love and pity doth the impression fill

　　Which vulgar scandal stamped 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 steeled sense or changes right or wrong.

　　In so profound abyss I throw all care

　　Of others'voices，