Sonnet 125

Shakespeare Sundays with Chop Bard

Were't aught to me I bore the canopy, With my extern the outward honoring, Or laid great bases for eternity, Which proves more short than waste or ruining? Have I not seen dwellers on form and favor Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent, For compound sweet forgoing simple savor, 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 mix'd with seconds, knows no art, But mutual render, only me for thee. Hence, thou suborn'd informer, a true soul When most impeach'd stands least in thy control.