That god forbid, that made me first your slave,
I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave,
Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure!
O, let me suffer, being at your beck,
Th' imprisoned absence of your liberty,
And patience tame to sufferance, bide each check,
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list, your charter is so strong
That you your self may privilage your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong
Your self to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 93: So Shall I Live, Supposing Thou Art True
- Sonnet 150: O From What Power Hast Thou This Powerful Might
- The Phoenix And The Turtle
- Sonnet 90: Then Hate Me When Thou Wilt; If Ever, Now
- Sonnet 133: Beshrew That Heart That Makes My Heart To Groan