A new Sonnet, showing how the Goddess Diane transformed Actaeon into the shape of an Hart.  
To the tune of, Rogero.  

 

Diana and her Darlings Dear  
went walking on a Day,  
Throughout the Woods and waters clear,  
for their disport and play:  
The leaves aloft were gay and green,  
and pleasant to behold,  
These Nymphs they walked the Trees between,  
under the shadow cold  
So long at last they found a place  
Of springs and waters clear,  
A fairer Bath their never was  
found out this thousand year:  
Wherein Diana daintily  
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 behold their bodies bare,  
then prensently that Live:  
And as the Nymphs of him were ware,  
with voice aloud they cried,  
And closed Diana round about,  
to hid her body small  
Yet 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 bide he thought is was to boot,  
his former fights were done:  
And as he thought from her to scape.  
she brought it so to pass,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 inent she changed his shape,  
●●en 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 determe;  
His skin that was so fine and fair,  
was made a tawny red,  
His Body overgrown with hair,  
from foot unto the head;  
And on his head great horns were set,  
most monstrous to behold,  
A huger Hart was never met,  
nor see upon the Mould;  
His ears his eyes, his face full fair,  
transformed were full strange,  
His hands for feet compelled were  
throughout the Wood to range.  
Thus was he made a perfect Hart,  
and waxed fierce and grim,  
His former shapes did clean departed  
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 his Hounds of him were ware,  
and 'gan to try a pace:  
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 f●llowed him so fast,  
His running might not him avail;  
for all his speed and haste.    

The second part,  
to the same tune.  
 

FOr why, his Hounds would never lin,  
till him they overtook,  
And then they rend and tore the skin,  
and all his body shook:  
I am your Master Actaeon,  
then cried he to his Hounds,  
And made to them most rueful moan,  
with shrill lamenting sounds.   

I have been he that gave you food,  
wherein I did delight,  
Wherefore suck not your master's blood,  
his feiendship to requite:  
But those Curs of a cursed kind,  
of 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 form like a Hart,  
amongst the Dogs was slain.  
Your Hunters all that range the Woods  
although you rise up rath.  
Beware you come not near the Floods  
where Virgins use to bathe.   

For if Diana you espy  
among her Darlings dear  
Your former shape she shall disguise,  
and make you horns to wear.  
And so I now conclude my Song,  
having no more to allege,  
If Actaeon had right or wrong,  
let all fair Virgin's judge.     

A Lullaby  

COme little Babe, come silly Soul,  
thy Father's shame & Mother's grief,  
Borne (as I doubt) to all our doles,  
and to thyself unpappy chief:  
Sing Lullaby, and wrap it warm,  
Poor Soul it thinks no creature harm.   

Thou little thinkest, and lest dost know  
the cause of this his Mother's moan,  
Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe,  
and I myself am all alone:  
Why dost thou weep, why dost thou wail,  
And know'st not now what thou dost all?   

Come little wretch, ah silly heart!  
mine only joy, what can I more?  
If there be any wrong thy smart,  
that may thy destiny, deplore;  
'Twas I, I say against my will,  
I wail the time, but be thou still.   

And dost thou smile? Oh thy sweet face,  
I would thy Dad the same might see,  
No doubt but it would purchase grace,  
I know it well, for thee and me:  
But come to Mother, Babe, and play,  
For Father false is fled away.   

Sweet Boy, if it thy fortune chance.  
thy Father home again to send,  
If Death doth strike me with his Lance,  
yet may'st thou me commend?  
If any ask thy Mother's name,  
Tell how 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 have me betrayed.   

Then may'st thou joy and be right glad,  
although in woe I seem to moan:  
Thy Father is no rascal Lad,  
a noble Youth of blood and bone;  
His glancing look, if he once smile,  
Right honest Woman will beguile.   

Come little Boy, and rock asleep,  
sing Lullaby, and be thou still,  
I that can do nought else but weep,  
will sit by thee and Lullaby,  
God bless my Babe and Lullaby  
From this his Father's quality.   
Finis   

London, Printed for J. W. dwelling in the Old-Bayly.