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.