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| How heavy do I journey on the way, | 1 |
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| When what I seek, my weary travel's end, |
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| Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, |
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| 'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!' |
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| The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, | 5 |
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| Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, |
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| As if by some instinct the wretch did know |
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| His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee: |
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| The bloody spur cannot provoke him on, |
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| That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, | 10 |
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| Which heavily he answers with a groan, |
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| More sharp to me than spurring to his side; |
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 For that same groan doth put this in my mind, |
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| My grief lies onward, and my joy behind. |
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