Sonnet 57

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.

How can I not be a slave to you?

Tend to the hours and days of your desire?

There is nothing more pressing to do

Than the services you require.

Nor can I complain when I’m waiting for hours

Like days, my master, for you to return.

Nor question the wisdom of your powers

Or let your absence make my heart burn.

Nor do I grow jealous or doubt your stories

Or wonder where you’re going or pry into your affairs.

I’m just a slave, who thinks of nothing but your glories,

How charming you are for everyone. I have no cares.

So foolish is my love, it does whatever you will,

And even when wronged, it never thinks ill.