THE SONNETS by William Shakespeare (57)

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 chide¹ 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 nought² 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.