Sonnet LVII

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 anything, he thinks no ill.