In half an hour she promis'd to return.
Perchance she cannot meet him; that's not so.
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams
Driving back shadows over lowering hills;
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw [Love],
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the sun upon the [highmost] hill
10
Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve