text: Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
  But as for me, helas, I may no more.
  The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
  I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
  Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
  Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
  Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
  Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.
  Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
  As well as I may spend his time in vain.
  And graven with diamonds in letters plain
  There is written, her fair neck round about:
  Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
  And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.