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.