Sonnet 58
That god forbid, that made me first your slave,I should in thought control your times of pleasure,Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!
O! let me suffer, being at your beck,The 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 strongThat you yourself may privilege your timeTo what you will; to you it doth belongYourself to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well.