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