When Daphne from fair Phoebus did fly

1. When Daphne from fair Phoebus did fly,
The west wīnd* most sweetly did blow in her face.
Her silken skirts scarce covered her thigh;
The god cried, o pitȳ! and held her in chase.
‘Stay, nymph, stay, nymph,’ cried Apollo,
‘Tarrȳ and turn thee, sweet nymph, stay.
Lion nor tiger doth thee follow;
Turn thy fair eyes and look this way.
O turn, o prettȳ sweet,
And let our red lips meet.’

Chorus:
‘Pitȳ, o Daphne, pitȳ, pitȳ,
Pitȳ, o Daphne, pitȳ me!’

2. She gave no e᷍ar unto his cry,
But still did neglect him the more he did moan;
Though he did entreat, she still did deny,
And earnestlȳ pray him to leave her alone.
‘Never, never,’ cried Apollo,
‘Unless to love thou will consent,
But still with my voice so hollow
I’ll cry to thee while life be spent.
But if thou pitȳ me
’Twill prọve thy felicitȳ.’

Chorus

3. Away, like Venus’ doves, she flies,
The red blo͝od her buskins did run all a-down.
His plaintive love she still denies,
And cries: ‘Help, Diana, save thy renown!
Wanton, wanton lust is ne᷍ar me,
Cold and chȧste Diana’s aid.
Let the earth a virgin bear me
Or devour me, quick, a maid!’
Diana heard her pray
And turned her to a bay.

Chorus

4. Amazèd stood Apollo then
While he beheld Daphne turned as she desi͞red.
‘Accursed am I above gods and men,
With grief and laments my senses are ti͞red.
Farewell, false Daphne, most unkind,
My love lies buried in thy grȧve!
Long sought I love, yet love could not find,
Therefore, this is thy epitaph:
This tree doth Daphne cover
That never pitied lover.
Farewell, false Daphne, that would not pitȳ me:
Although not my love, yet art thou my tree.’