Sonnet LVII
by William Shakespeare

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 Soverign, watch the clock for You, 
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, 
When 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 nought, 
Save, where You are how happy You make those: 
So true a fool is love, that in Your will 
(Though You do any thing) she thinks no ill.

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