Edmund Spenser(1552–1599)
Sonnet 67 ("Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace")
Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace,
Seeing the game from him escapt away,
Sits downe to rest him in some shady place,
With panting hounds beguiled of their pray:
So after long pursuit and vaine assay,attempt
When I all weary had the chace forsooke,
The gentle deare6 returnd the selfe-same way,
Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brooke.
There she beholding me with mylder looke,
Sought not to fly, but fearelesse still did bide:
Till I in hand her yet halfe trembling tooke,
And with her owne goodwill hir fyrmely tyde.
Strange thing me seemd7 to see a beast so wyld,
So goodly wonne with her owne will beguyld.