Chapter IX

Unto the fountain where fair Delia chaste
The proud Acteon turned 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 curled 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 amazed 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.