Sonnet Ccxliii:

O let me break my slavehood! Link by link I rend my gyves; not calmly, but with cries Of anguish, bloody hands and streaming eyes-- In haste, in rage, without a pause to think. Lo, I am free! and I again may drink The air of freedom--as yon bird that flies Straight from the valley to his mountain skies-- And hear no more my shameful fetters clink. The passion passes; with my own poor hands, Before the iron has leisure to grow cold, I trembling gather all the scattered bands; Refix and rivet each one as of old, Lest she should wonder where she smiling stands, Then clank my chains, and proudly cry, 'Behold!'