UNTO the fountain, where fair DIANA chaste
The proud ACTEON turnèd to a hart,
I drave my flock that water sweet to taste;
'Cause from the welkin, PHŒBUS 'gan depart.
There did I see the Nymph whom I admire.
Remembering 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.