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 hourWhilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,Nor think the bitterness of absence sourWhen 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 any thing, he thinks no ill.
My knave, I'm your slave, even though itmeans nothing but pain for this poet.While you treat me like shit,my devotion won't quit.I'm helpless in love and I know it.