Who so list to hounte, I know where is an hynde
Who so list to hounte, I know where is an hynde,
But as for me, helas, I may no more.
The vayne travaill hath weried me so sore,
I ame of theim that farthest cometh behinde.
Yet may I by no meanes my weried mynde
Drawe from the Diere: but as she fleeth afore
Faynting I folowe. I leve of therefore,
Sithens in a nett I seke to hold the wynde.
Who list her hount, I put him owte of dowbte,
As well as I may spend his tyme in vain.
And graven with Diamondes in letters plain
There is written her faier neck rounde abowte:
„Noli me tangere for Cesars I ame,
And wylde for to hold though I seme tame.“