LIThus can my love excuse the slow offenceOf 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.’
Thus can my love excuse the slow offenceOf 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.’