Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu.
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught
Save where you are, how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Now, My Co-Mates And Brothers In Exile
- Sonnet 25: Let Those Who Are In Favour With Their Stars
- Sonnet 87: Farewell! Thou Art Too Dear For My Possessing
- Sonnet 71: No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead
- Sonnet 147: My Love Is As A Fever, Longing Still