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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 Phœbus '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.