A new Sonnet, shewing how the Goddess Diana
Transformed Acteon into the shape of a Hart. to a New Tune.
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DIANA and her Darlings dear,
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went walking on a Day,
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Throughout the Wood and Waters clear,
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for their disports and play.
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The leaves aloft were very green
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and pleasant to behold,
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These Nymphs they walkt the trees between,
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under the shaddows cold.
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So long, at last they found a place
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of Springs and Waters clear,
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A fairer Bath there never was
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found out this thousand Year;
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Wherin Diana dantily,
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her self began to bathe.
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And all her Virgins fair and pure,
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themselves did wash and lave.
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And as the Nymphs in water stood,
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ACTEON passed by,
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As he came runing through the Wood,
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on them he cast his Eye,
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And eke beheld their bodies bare,
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then presently that tide,
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And as the Nymphs of him were ware,
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with voice aloud they cryd;
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And closd Diana round about,
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to hide her body small;
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But she was highest of the Rout,
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and seen above them all.
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And when Diana did perceive
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where Acteon did stand;
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A furious look to him she gave,
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and took her Bow in hand,
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And as she went about to shoot,
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Acteon began to run,
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To hide he thought it was no boot,
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his former fight were done.
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And as he thought from her to scape,
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she brought it so to pass,
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Incotinently changd his shape,
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even runing as he was;
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Each Goddess took Dianas part,
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Acteon to transform,
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To make of him a huge wild Hart,
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there they did all determ;
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His Skin that was so fine and fair,
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was made a tawny Red,
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His body overgrown with Hair,
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from feet unto the head;
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and on his head great Horns were set,
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most wonderous to behold,
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a huger Hart was never met,
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nor seen upon the Mold;
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His Ears and Eyes that were so fair,
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transformed were full strange,
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His Hands and Feet compelled were
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throughout the Woods to range.
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Thus was he made a perfect Hart,
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and waxed fierce and grim;
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His former shape did quite depart
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from every joint and limb;
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but still his Memory did remain,
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although he could not speak,
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Nor yet among his Friends complain,
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his woful mind to break;
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at length he thought for to repair
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home to his dwelling place,
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anon of him his Hounds were ware,
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and gan to cry apace:Then Acteon was sore agast,
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his Hounds would him devour,
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and from them then he fled full fast,
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with all his might and power.
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HE spared neither bush nor brake
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but ran through thick and thin,
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With all the swiftness he could make,
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in hope to save his Skin:Yet were his Hounds so near his tail,
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and followed him so fast,
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That running might not him avail,
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for all his speed and haste:
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For why his Hounds would never lin
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till they him overtook,
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and then they rent and tore his Skin,
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and all his body shook:I am your Master Acteon,
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then cryd he to his Hounds,
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and made unto them rueful moans,
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with sad lamenting sounds;
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I have been he which gave you food,
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wherein I took delight.
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Therefore suck not your masters blood,
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his friendship to requite.
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but those Curs of a cursed kind,
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on him had no remorse,
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although he was their dearest friend,
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they pulld him down by force.
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There was no man to take his part,
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the story telleth plain;
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Thus Acteon a huge wild Hart,
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among the Does were slain:You Hunters all that Range the woods,
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although you rise up rath,
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beware you come not nigh the Flood
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where Virgins use to bathe:For if Diana you espy
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among her Derlings dear,
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Your former shape she will disguise,
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and make you Horns to wear:and so I do conclude my Song,
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have nothing to alledge;
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If Acteon had right or wrong,
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let all true Virgins judge.
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COme little Babe, come silly Soul,
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thy fathers shame & mothers grief
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Born as I doubt to all our doles,
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unto thy self unhappy chief:
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Sing Lullaby, and keep it warm,
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Poor Soul, it thinks no Creature harm;
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thou little thinkst, & least dost know,
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the cause of this thy Mothers moan,
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thou wantest wit to wail or woe,
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and I my self am left alone:why dost thou weep, why dost thou wail
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And knowest not what thou dost ail.
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Come silly wretch, ah silly heart,
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my only joy what can I more?
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if there be any wrong, thy smart,
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that may thy distiny deplore,
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tis I, I say, against my will,
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I wait the time, but be thou still.
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And dost thou smile, O thou sweet face,
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I would thy Dad the same might see,
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No doubt but it would purchase grace,
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I know it would be for thee & me.
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But come to Mother, Babe, and play,
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Poor Father false is fled away.
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Sweet babe, ift be thy fortune chance,
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thy father home again to send,
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if Death doth strike me with his lance,
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yet mayst thou me to him commend:if any ask thy Mothers name,
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tell how by love she purchast blame:
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then will his gentle heart soon yeild,
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I know him of a noble mind,
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Although a Lion in the Field,
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a Lamb in town thou shalt him find;
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ask blessing Lad, be not afraid,
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His Sugred lips hath me betrayd.
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then mayst thou joy and be right glad
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although in woe I seem to mourn,
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thy Father is no Rascal Lad,
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an able Youth of blood and bone,
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His glancing look, if he once smile,
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Right honest Women will beguile.
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Come little boy, and rock asleep,
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sing Lullaby and do not cry,
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I can do nought else but weep,
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and sit by thee the Lullaby;
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God bless the babe and Lullaby,
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From this thy Fathers Cruelty.
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