Act I, Scene 112

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• Shakespeare. Your love and pity doth the impression fill
  Which vulgar scandal stamp'd 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 1560
  To know my shames and praises from your tongue:
  None else to me, nor I to none alive,
  That my steel'd sense or changes right or wrong.
  In so profound abysm I throw all care
  Of others' voices, that my adder's sense 1565
  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.