Were’t aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which proves 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 suborned informer! a true soul
When most impeach’d, stands least in thy control.
In plain English
What would it matter if I performed grand gestures for you—carried the ceremonial canopy, built monuments, sought your favour with elaborate displays? I've seen people exhaust themselves chasing status and approval, spending everything on ornate things while losing sight of what's genuine. They end up pitiful, drained, with nothing real to show for it.
So I'm choosing differently. I want only to live obediently in your heart, and I offer you something simple and honest—not mixed with pretence, not calculated, just a straight exchange: all of me for all of you. To anyone whispering poison about me, trying to turn you against me: a truly loyal soul can't be corrupted by slander, no matter how hard you push.
