CXXV
Were't aught to me I bore the canopy1, With my extern the outward honouring, Or laid great bases for eternity2, Which proves more short than waste or ruining? Have I not seen dwellers3 on form and favour Lose all and more by paying too much rent For compound sweet; forgoing4 simple savour, Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent? No; let me be obsequious5 in thy heart, And take thou my oblation6, poor but free, Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art, But mutual7 render, only me for thee. Hence, thou suborned informer! a true soul When most impeach'd, stands least in thy control.