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.
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