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 measured from thy friend!'
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe
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
Which he answer heavily 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 not behind.
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