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 duly 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
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That some times anger thrusts into his
hide, Which heavily he answers 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 my joy behind.
8th Line. Made from thee-the faster his horse goes it
Bacon from Marguerite.
During the period when Bacon was in Paris he was instructed by
to visit Italy and Spain and
make notes of what he saw. Setting out on his journey
he wrote the sonnets to
Here Bacon leaving
his love Marguerite and posting away from Paris is ruminating that every step that his horse makes
is taking him away from her-that his horse by instinct knows
this and does not hurry although his rider uses the spur.
His horse groans when spurred and sharper than a spur Bacon remembers that he has left his love behind and that his
grief lies in the future.