An Excellent and Most-pleasant New SONNET, Showing how the Goddess Diana Transformed Actaeon into the Shape of a Hart.  
To a pleasant new Tune.  
Licenced and Entered according to Order.  
 
DIana and her Darlings dear, went walking on a day,  
Throughout the Woods and Waters clear, for their disports and play;  
The leaves aloft were very green and pleasant to behold;  
These Nymphs they wa●● the trees between, under the shadows cold,  
So long, at last they found a place of Springs and Waters clear,  
A fairer Bath there never was found out this thousand year:  
Wherein Diana, daintily, herself began to bathe,  
And all her Virgin's fair and pure, themselves did wash and lave:  
And as the Nymphs in water stood, Actaeon passed by,  
As he came running through the Wood, on them he cast his Eye,  
And eke beheld their Bodies bare, then presently that tide.  
And as the Nymphs of him were ware, with voice aloud they cried,  
And closed Diana round about, to hide her Body small;  
But she was highest in the Rout, and seen above them all.  
And when Diana did perceive where Actaeon did stand,  
A furious look to him she gave, and took her Bow in hand:  
And as she was about to shoot, Actaeon began to run,  
To hide he thought it was no ●oot, his former sight was done.  
And as he thought from her to escape, she brought it so to pass,  
Incontinently changed his shape, even running as he was;  
Each Goddess took Diana's part, Actaeon to Transform,  
To make of him a huge wild Hart, there they did all determ:  
His skin that was so fine and fair, was made a tawny red,  
His body over grown with hair, from feet unto the head;  
And on his head great horns were set, most wondrous to behold,  
A huger Hart was never ●et nor seen upon the Mould;  
His ears and eyes that were so fa●r, transformed were full strange,  
His hands and feet comprised were throughout the Woods to range.  
Thus was he made a perfect Hart, and waxed fierce and grim;  
His former Shape did quite depart from every joint and limb;  
But still his Memory did remain, although he might not speak,  
Nor yet among his Friends complain, his woeful mind to break;  
At length he thought for to repair home to his Dwelling-place,  
Anon of him his Hounds were ware, and 'gan to cry apace:  
Then Actaeon was sore aghast, his Hounds would him devour,  
And from them than he fled full fast, with all his might and power.  
He spared neither bush nor b●ake, but ran through thick and thin,  
With all the swiftness he could make, in hope to save his skin;  
Yet were his Hounds so near his tail, and followed him so fast,  
That running might not him avail, for all his speed and haste:  
For why, his Hounds would never li● till they him overtook,  
And then they rend and tore his skin: and all his body shook:  
I am your Master Actaeon, then cried he to his Hounds,  
And made unto them rueful moans, with sad lamenting sounds;  
I have been he which gave you food, wherein I took delight;  
Therefore suck not your Master's blood, his Friendship to requite.  
But those Curs of a cursed Kind, on him had no remorse,  
Although he was their dearest Friend, they pulled him down by force,  
There was no Man to take his part, the Story telleth plain;  
Thus Actaeon a huge wild Hart, among the Does were slain.  
You Hunters all, that range the Woods, although you rise up rath,  
Beware you come not nigh the Flood, were Virgin's use to bathe:  
For if Diana you espy, among her Darlings dear,  
Your former Shape she will disguise, and make you horns to wear.  
And so I do conclude my Song, having nothing to allege;  
If Actaeon had Right or Wrong, let all true Virgin's judge.   

An Excellent SONG, CALLED, LULLABY  
To a pleasant Tune  
 
COme little Babe, come silly Soul, thy Father's Shame, and Mother's Grief,  
Born, as I doubt to all out Doles, unto thyself unhappy chief.  
Sing Lullaby, and keep it warm,  
Poor Soul, it thinks no Creature harm;  
Thou little think'st, and lest dost know, the cause of this thy Mother's moan,  
Thou wantest wit to wail her woe, and I myself am left alone:  
Why dost thou weep, why dost thou wail,  
And knowest not what thou dost all?  
Come, silly Wretch; ah, silly Heart, my only joy, what can I more?  
If there be any wrong, thy smart, that may thy Destiny deplore,  
'Tis I, I say, against my will,  
I wait the time, but be thou still;  
And dost thou smile? O thou sweet Face! I would thy Dad the same might see,  
No doubt but it would purchase Grace, I know it would be for thee and me.  
But come to Mother, Babe and play,  
Poor Father, false, is fled away.  
Sweet Babe, if't be thy Fortune change, thy Father home again to send,  
If Death doth strike me with his Lance, yet may'st thou me to him commend:  
If any ask thy Mother's Name,  
Tell them by Love she purchased Blame;  
Then will his gentle heart soon yield, I know him of a noble Mind,  
Although a Lion in the Field, a Lamb in Town thou shalt him find:  
Ask blessing Lad, be not afraid,  
His sugared Lips hath me betrayed,  
Then may'st thou joy and be right glad, although in Woe I seem to mourn,  
Thy Father is no Rascal, Lad, an able Youth of Blood and Bone;  
His glancing Look, if he once smile,  
Right honest Women will beguile.  
Come little Boy, and rock asleep, sing Lullaby, and do not cry,  
I can do nought else but weep, and sit by thee, the Lullaby:  
God bless the Babe and Lullaby,  
From this thy Father's Cruelty.   

Printed by W. O. and sold by the Book sellers.