Sonnet LVIII
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That god forbid that made me first your slave, | 1
I should in thought control your times of pleasure, | 2
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave, | 3
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure! | 4
O, let me suffer, being at your beck, | 5
The imprison'd absence of your liberty; | 6
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each cheque, | 7
Without accusing you of injury. | 8
Be where you list, your charter is so strong | 9
That you yourself may privilege your time | 10
To what you will; to you it doth belong | 11
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. | 12
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell; | 13
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well. | 14
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