A gentle tame Deere am I, cald a HART,
The cruell Huntresse fierce my Mistres is:
With crosse-bow bent she comes to me in Parke,
Palde in with pleasant thoughts of wanton wish:
Shee shootes and hits mee, takes me for her pray;
And having shot, hit, taken, flies her way.
Backe she retires from mee with pleasant smile,
Unloosing mee, and heales my wound and paine;
When as afresh incenst (alacke the while)
Gainst mee, desirous me to plague againe:
She turnes towards me, ore-takes me, strikes me sore;
And binding up my wounds, makes deadly more.