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