The Sonnets

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 perfectʼst 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 Iʼll run, and give him leave to go.’