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.