Oh, sweet Dianne, Huntress,
How ****** steps do bless
These very woods through which you give your chase.
Wearied now, so wish to lave
In your spring off the way.
To there she did repair, her holy place.

Actaeon, hunter too,
Left his friends, oft did do,
To run with his dogs, his skill was unmatched.
The same it was that day,
With his friends back a way
The beginnings of Actaeon's doom hatched.

So it was that noble
Actaeon did stumble
Upon fair Dianne attended within
Guarded by handmaidens
But her face un-hidden
The sight of which, Actaeon's final sin.

"Go and tell, if you can,
That you have seen Dianne
Unapparelled!" she added as water,
So potently bless-ed,
In his face was dash-ed.
Actaeon a stag, form she did alter.

"Ah! So wretched is me!"
No escape did he see
As the great hunter became the hunted.
And his dogs now gave chase
Knowing not his new face,
Run, Actaeon! Your life yet stunted!

The chase gave for three days,
Greatest, worthy of praise,
Till Actaeon's poor heart did finally
Break, now unto his fall
To the dogs he did call.
Actaeon's death, as a stag he did see.