A new Sonnet, showing how the Goddess Diana  
Transformed Actaeon into the shape of a Hart. to a New Tune.  
 
 

DIANA and her Darlings dear,  
went walking on a Day,  
Throughout the Wood and Waters clear,  
for their disports and play.  
The leaves aloft were very green  
and pleasant to behold,  
These Nymphs they walked 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 dantily,  
herself began to bathe.  
And all her Virgins 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 of 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 went about to shoot,  
Actaeon began to run,  
To hide he thought it was no boot,  
his former sight were done.  
And as he thought from her to 'scape,  
she brought it so to pass,  
Incotinently 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 towny Red,  
His body overgrown with Hair,  
from feet unto the head;  
and on his head great Horns were set,  
most wondrous to behold,  
a luger Hart was never met,  
nor seen upon the Mould;  
His Ears and Eyes that were so fair,  
transformed were full strange,  
His Hands and Feet compelled were  
throughout the Woods to range.  
Thus was he made a perfect Hart,  
and warred fierce and grim;  
His former shape did quite depart  
from every joint and limb;  
but still his Memory did remain,  
although he could 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 began to cry apare:  
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 brake  
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 lin  
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  
where Virgins use to hath:  
For if Diana you espy  
among her Derlings dear,  
Your former shape she will disguise,  
and make you Horns to wear:  
and so I do conclude my Song,  
have nothing to allege;  
If Actaeon had right or wrong,  
let all true Virgin's judge.    

A Lullaby,  
 

COme little Babe, come silly Soul.  
thy father's shame & mother's grief  
Born as Idoubt to all our doles,  
unto thyself unhappy chief:  
Sing Lullaby, and keep it warm,  
Poor Soul, it thinks no Creature harm;  
thou little think'st, & lest dost know,  
the cause of this thy Mother's moan,  
thou wantest wir to wail or woe,  
and it 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 Imore?  
If there be any wrong, thy smart,  
that may thy distiny deplore,  
'tis I, Isay, 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 & me.  
But come to Mother, Babe, and play,  
Poor Father false is fled away.  
Sweet babe, is't be thy fortune chance,  
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 how by love she purcha'st 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 Iseem 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 and for A. M. and Sold by the Booksellers of London.