Sonnet 57

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 nought
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.