Poem by William Shakespeare

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.
In so profound abysm I throw all care
Of others' voices, that my adder's sense,
To critic and to flatterer stopped are:
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense.
You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
That all the world besides methinks are dead.

1. The Church at Stratford
2. Anne Hathaway
3. Hark! Hark! The Lark
4. It Was a Lover and His Lass
5. Fidele

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