Treasure Island

William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

Sonnet 57: Being your slave, what should I do but tend


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 naught
Save 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.

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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  • Abbie Bennett (11/24/2009 9:12:00 PM)

    This sonnet so beautifully captures that desperate ache one feels in ones soul when apart from his love. Who of us has not felt it? That dreadful sense of helplessness when we desire to always be at our beloved's side, to tend to his every whim, to care for every need? So bound our we, so willingly captive in Love, that the pains of our true love's departure renders from us only a wistful sigh for his return, yet no protest at his leaving because of his sovereignty in our lives, and in our hearts. This is a desperate ache, indeed, and we are powerless to remedy it. (Report) Reply

  • Laury Wong (2/7/2008 5:41:00 PM)

    I was recently introduced to Shakespeare's sonnet and this one caught my attention; because partly it is sad, true, and applicable in life...well, long story short(sigh!) This is beautiful choice of words....Praise to Shakspeare! ! ! (Report) Reply

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