| HOW heavy do I journey on the way | |
| When what I seek, my weary travel’s end, | |
| Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, | |
| ‘Thus far the miles are measur’d from thy friend!’ | |
| The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, | 5 |
| Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, | |
| As if by some instinct the wretch did know | |
| His rider lov’d not speed, being made from thee: | |
| The bloody spur cannot provoke him on | |
| That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, | 10 |
| Which heavily he answers with a groan | |
| More sharp to me than spurring to his side; | |
| For that same groan doth put this in my mind: | |
| My grief lies onward, and my joy behind. |