Melancholy Song to my very best Idol

Your behave and pity doth the impression fill on me
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow;
For what care I...
who calls me well or ill,
So did you green my bad, my good allow?
You are my all-the-world,
and I must strive
To know my shames and praises
from my own tongue; to you
None else to me, nor I to none alive,
That my besiege sense
changes wrong to right
In so profound abysm I throw all care
Of other's voices, that my adder's sense
To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
compiled how with my neglect I do dispense:
You are so strongly in my purpose scythe,
That all the world besides me
would think you are dead.

but anyway it's only in my wrack'd mind