The Sonnets LVIII - That god forbid, that made me first your slave

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 imprisond absence of your liberty;
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check,
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list, your charter is so strong
That you yourself may privilage your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,
Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well.

William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare was an English playwright, poet, and actor, regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's greatest dramatist. Known as the 'Bard of Avon,' his extant works include approximately 39 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and a few other verses. His plays have been translated into every major living language and are performed more often than those of any other playwright.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CXXXI - Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets XLIX - Against that time, if ever that time come

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets LXVIII - Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets XXXV - No more be grievd at that which thou hast done

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Sonnets LVII - 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 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.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CXXXIII - Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me!
Ist not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my sweetst friend must be?
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
And my next self thou harder hast engrossd:
Of him, myself, and thee I am forsaken;
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossd:
Prison my heart in thy steel bosoms ward,
But then my friends heart let my poor heart bail;
Whoeer keeps me, let my heart be his guard;
Thou canst not then use rigour in my jail:
And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets LXXXVIII - When thou shalt be disposd to set me light

When thou shalt be disposd to set me light,
And place my merit in the eye of scorn,
Upon thy side, against myself Ill fight,
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn.
With mine own weakness, being best acquainted,
Upon thy part I can set down a story
Of faults conceald, wherein I am attainted;
That thou in losing me shalt win much glory:
And I by this will be a gainer too;
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee,
The injuries that to myself I do,
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
That for thy right, myself will bear all wrong.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XXVI - Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit:
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it,
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy souls thought, all naked, will bestow it:
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving,
Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
And puts apparel on my tatterd loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee;
Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XCII - But do thy worst to steal thyself away

But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine;
And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour doth depend:
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.
O! what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to die!
But whats so blessed-fair that fears no blot?
Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XLI - Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits

Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits,
When I am sometime absent from thy heart,
Thy beauty, and thy years full well befits,
For still temptation follows where thou art.
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won,
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assaild;
And when a woman woos, what womans son
Will sourly leave her till he have prevaild?
Ay me! but yet thou mightst my seat forbear,
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth,
Who lead thee in their riot even there
Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth:
Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
Thine by thy beauty being false to me.

William Shakespeare