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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