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CXXV.
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.
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