1 Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
2 Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed:
3 From where thou art why should I haste me thence?
4 Till I return, of posting is no need.
5 O, what excuse will my poor beast then find,
6 When swift extremity can seem but slow?
7 Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind;
8 In winged speed no motion shall I know:
9 Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;
10 Therefore desire of perfect'st love being made,
11 Shall neigh—no dull flesh—in his fiery race;
12 But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade;
13 Since from thee going he went wilful-slow,
14 Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.
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