Sonnet 112. Your love and pity doth th' impression fill

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'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.