Laura. The Toyes of a Traveller. Or. The Feast of Fancie - Part 2, 19
Whilst foming Steed I spurre unto the quicke,
To make him gallop to my Love amaine,
Love doth my thoughts (through fancy) forward prick,
The end of wished journey mine to gaine:
But light's his hurt, tis but a little smart;
Where mine is mortall, sounding to the hart.
Run then (my Gelding swift) like Pegasus ,
Flie hence with wings, for wings hath my desire;
Both of us (forst amaine) are forward thus,
And kindled in us is a burning fire:
Thou through two spurres in flanke provokd art sore,
But thousands inwardly my hart doo gore,
To make him gallop to my Love amaine,
Love doth my thoughts (through fancy) forward prick,
The end of wished journey mine to gaine:
But light's his hurt, tis but a little smart;
Where mine is mortall, sounding to the hart.
Run then (my Gelding swift) like Pegasus ,
Flie hence with wings, for wings hath my desire;
Both of us (forst amaine) are forward thus,
And kindled in us is a burning fire:
Thou through two spurres in flanke provokd art sore,
But thousands inwardly my hart doo gore,
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