William Shakespeare
Warwickshire
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Sonnet Lviii

Rating: 4.8
That god forbid that made me first your slave,
I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!
O, let me suffer, being at your beck,
The imprison'd absence of your liberty;
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each cheque,
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list, your charter is so strong
That you yourself may privilege your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong
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COMMENTS
Go glasky 04 April 2018
Mhmm though now shall thrive beneath the head of awakening
0 0 Reply
Brian Jani 26 April 2014
Awesome I like this poem, check mine out
1 1 Reply

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