Sonnet 48

I On my horse, and Loue on me doth trie
Our horsmanship, while two strong works I proue,
A horsman to my horse, a horse to Loue;
And now mans wrongs in me poore beast discry.
The raines wherewith the ryder doth me tie
Are reuerent thoughts, which bit of reuerence moue,
Curbde in with feare, but with gilt bosse aboue
Of hope, which makes it seeme faire to the eye:
The wande is will, thou fancie saddle art,
Girt fast by memory; and while I spurre
My horse, he spurres with sharpe desires my hart,
He sits me fast how euer I doe sturre,
And now hath made me to his hand so right,
That in the manage I my selfe delight.