Ix

Unto the fountain where fair Delia chaste The proud Acteon turnèd to a hart, I drove my flock, that water sweet to taste, 'Cause from the welkin Phoebus 'gan depart. There did I see the nymph whom I admire, Rememb'ring her locks, of which the yellow hue Made blush the beauties of her curlèd wire, Which Jove himself with wonder well might view; Then red with ire, her tresses she berent, And weeping hid the beauty of her face, Whilst I amazèd at her discontent, With tears and sighs do humbly sue for grace; But she regarding neither tears nor moan, Flies from the fountain leaving me alone.