Sonnet 50

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