Sonnet 125


  Were't aught to me I bore the canopy,
  With my extern the outward honouring,
  Or laid great bases for eternity,
  Which proves more short than waste or ruining?
  Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
  Lose all, and more by paying too much rent
  For compound sweet; forgoing simple savour,
  Pitiful thrivers in their gazing spent?
  No, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
  And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
  Which is not mixed with seconds, knows no art,
  But mutual render, only me for thee.
    Hence, thou suborned informer, a true soul
    When most impeached, stands least in thy control.


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