747More sharpe to me then spurring to his side,

748 For that same grone doth put this in my mind,

749My greefe lies onward and my ioy behind.

751THus can my loue excuse the slow offence,

752Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed,

753From where thou art, why shoulld I hast me thence,

754Till I returne of posting is noe need.

755O what excuse will my poore beast then find,

756When swift extremity can seeme but slow,

757Then should I spurre though mounted on the wind,

758In winged speed no motion shall I know,

759Then can no horse with my desire keepe pace,

760Therefore desire(of perfects loue being made)

761Shall naigh noe dull flesh in his fiery race,

762But loue, for loue, thus shall excuse my iade,

763 Since from thee going, he went wilfull slow,

764Towards thee ile run, and giue him leaue to goe.

766SO am I as the rich whose blessed key,

767Can bring him to his sweet vp-locked treasure,

768The which he will not eu'ry hower suruay,

769For blunting the fine point of seldome pleasure.

770Therefore are feasts so sollemne and so rare,

771Since sildom comming in the long yeare set,

772Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,

773Or captaine Iewells in the carconet.

774So is the time that keepes you as my chest,

775Or as the ward-robe which the robe doth hide,

776To make some speciall instant speciall blest,

777By new vnfoulding his imprison'd pride.

778 Blessed are you whose worthinesse giues skope,

779Being had to tryumph, being lackt to hope.

781WHat is your substance, whereof are you made,

782That millions of strange shaddowes on you tend?