Sonnet LXVII
Like as a huntsman after weary chase,
Seeing the game from him escaped away,
sits down to rest him in some shady place,
with panting hounds, beguiled of their prey:
So, after long pursuit and vain assay,
when I all weary had the chase forsook,
the gentle deer returned the self-same way,
thinking to quench her thirst at the next brooke.
There she, beholding me with milder look,
sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide,
till I in hand her yet half trembling took,
and with her own good will her firmly tied.
Strange thing, me seemed, to see a beast so wild,
so goodly won, with her own will beguiled.