Sonnet 57
Being your slave what should I do but tendUpon 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 thoughtWhere you may be, or your affairs suppose,But, like a sad slave, stay and think of noughtSave, where you are, how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love, that in your will,Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.