Shakespeare’s speaker imagines himself as a slave to the person he loves, with no purpose but to wait for their commands. He has no time or life of his own—only the empty hours spent watching the clock. Even the endless stretches of absence don’t make him bitter; he won’t allow himself to question where the beloved is or what they’re doing, because that would feel like a kind of rebellion against his “sovereign.” Instead, like a “sad slave,” he just stays put and thinks about how happy others must be to be near them. The mood is one of quiet, resigned devotion. There’s no anger or demand, only a tender, almost numbed acceptance of being entirely defined by another’s will. That final couplet wraps it up with a rueful sigh: love makes you such a fool that you can’t see any fault in the person you adore, no matter how they treat you.
Sonnet 57: Being your slave what should I do but tend — Summary
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.