| | Sonnet 57 |
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Being your slave, what should I do but tend |
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Upon the hours and times of your desire? |
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I have no precious time at all to spend, |
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Nor services to do, till you require. |
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Nor dare I chide the world without end hour |
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Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, |
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Nor think the bitterness of absence sour |
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When you have bid your servant once adieu. |
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Nor dare I question with my jealous thought |
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Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, |
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But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought |
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Save, where you are, how happy you make those. |
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So true a fool is love that in your will, |
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Though you do anything, he thinks no ill. |
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| Sonnet 57 |
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Since I'm your slave, what else should I do but wait on the hours, and for the times when you'll want me? I don't have any valuable time to spend, or any services to do, until you need me. Nor do I dare complain about how agonizingly long the hours are while I watch the clock for you, my king, or how bitter your absence is after you've said goodbye to your servant. Nor do I dare ask jealous questions about where you might be, or speculate about your affairs, but like a sad slave I sit still and think about nothing except how happy you're making whomever you're with. Love makes a person such a faithful fool that no matter what you do to satisfy your desires, he doesn't think you've done anything wrong. |
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