Sonnet 58

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’ imprison’d 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 yourself may privilege your time

To what you will; to you it doth belong

Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.

I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,

Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.

No one said that as your slave

I should cast doubt upon your pleasure,

Or bother you about what you crave,

Or be your stress and not your leisure.

Let me suffer your absence

Like prison when you’re not here,

And suffer your liberties with patience,

And not put on you pain I bear.

Your power is so great,

Your privileges are endless,

Like a sovereign in a state,

Above all laws, lawless.

I have to wait, though it feels miserable,

Because what you want can never be culpable.