Old writers always say so, in their Lives.

But to my story, as it first began.
This worthy Phoebus doeth all he can
To please his wife, in hope, so pleasing her,
That she, for her part, would herself bestir
Discreetly, so as not to lose his grace;
But, Lord he knows, there's no man shall embrace
A thing so close, as to restrain what Nature
Hath naturally set in any creature.

Take any bird, and put it in a cage,
And do thy best and utmost to engage
The bird to love it; give it meat and drink,
And every dainty housewives can bethink,
And keep the cage as cleanly as you may,
And let it be with gilt never so gay,
Yet had this bird, by twenty-thousand-fold,
Rather be in a forest wild and cold,
And feed on worms and suchlike wretchedness;
Yea, ever will he tax his whole address
To get out of the cage when that he may:-
His liberty the bird desireth aye.

So, take a cat, and foster her with milk
And tender meat, and make her bed of silk,
Yet let her see a mouse go by the wall,
The devil may take, for her, silk, milk, and all,
And every dainty that is in the house;
Such appetite hath she to eat the mouse.