Sonnet 125

Were ’t aught to me I bore the canopy,

With my extern the outward honouring,

Or laid great bases for eternity,

Which prove 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 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.

If it meant much to me, for the sake of my own regard,

Not to offend the powers that be, as guarantors

Of security—as if I’d ever not find it too hard

To accept as true the verdict of today’s arbiters—

Yet I have seen too many victors

Receive tokens while losing

Their hearts: just specters

Of souls, taking and wasting.

So, no. Let me be obsequious

Simply, instead, to you.

We have nothing to gain but us,

Something that’s at least true.

And do not worry about the jealous snitch,

Who accuses most those impossible to catch.