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 weigh 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.'