Classic Poetry


Sonnet LVIII

by William Shakespeare


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
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.





Unsatisfied? Search for more:


Other Cool Sites:

Hot Arts & Stage News

Lyrics Catalogue

Sound Tracks Guide

Guide to Serials and Shows

English Subtitles For DivX Movies

Hundreds of Cooking Recipes

Over 5000 Cocktails Recipes

Cool Online Encyclopedia

Cellulars Descriptions and Reviews

Algorithms Dictionary

Funny Jokes and Anecdotes.

Usenet Newsgroups Reader