Thus can my loue excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed;
From where thou art, why should I hast me thence?
Till I returne, of posting is noe need.
O what excuse will my poore beast then find,
When swift extremity can seeme but slow?
Then should I spurre though mounted on the wind;
In winged speed no motion shall I know;
Then can no horse with my desire keepe pace;
Therefore desire (of perfectst loue being made)
Shall naigh noe dull flesh in his fiery race,
But loue, for loue, thus shall excuse my iade:
Since from thee going, he went wilfull slow,
Towards thee ile run, and giue him leaue to goe.
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed;
From where thou art, why should I haste me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind;
In winged speed no motion shall I know;
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;
Therefore desire, of perfect’st love being made,
Shall neigh no dull flesh in his fiery race,
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade:
Since from thee going he went wilful slow,
Towards thee I’ll run, and give him leave to go.