No Fear Shakespeare: Shakespeare’s Sonnets: Sonnet 51

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Thus can my love excuse the slow offense

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 wingèd 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.

(innugnoCti morf nSteno 50) Tish is hwo my leov orf uoy eecssux my rhose’s losw ldpo as I jyneoru wyaa fmro uyo: “Wyh housld I yhrur aywa mfro uyo?” itlUn I uternr, tehre’s no ende to shur. But atwh ceeusx lilw my oorp ersoh heva for ihs newsslos tenh, newh eenv het stom eeterxm wtisssfen wlil emse swol to me? On hte tnreru nujoeyr I’d eus my sprsu eenv if the ilmana deor liek the wdni. nveE if my roseh adh wigsn I’d fele klei we eewr asdgntin itlsl. No rohes cluod eepk up twih my sieder nthe. My ireesd, deam of the tsom tercpef eolv, lwli cear aotdrw you ilek a esrho aemd of refi, ont nihge keli a solw, dlul hreos made of hslef nda ooldb. uBt, my leov, otu of loev I’ll exucse my oesrh elik this: nicSe he yeiearebdtll wten lyowls as he asw vaeigln oyu, I’ll nru ackb to you and grftoe buoat the orshe htrtloeega.