STRANGE is this thing! My horse I cannot make
With spur, with speech, nor yet with rod in hand,
Force him to go; although great pains I take.
Do what I can; he still, as tired, doth stand.
No doubt he feels a heavy weight of me;
Which is the cause he standeth still as stone:
Nor is he 'ware that now he carrieth three;
He thinks, poor jade, I am on 's back alone.
But three we are, with mine own self I prove:
LAURA is in my heart; in soul is LOVE.
_Pesaro._