Thus can my love excuse the slow offense 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 willful-slow,     Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.

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