1.
When Daphne from fair Phoebus did fly,
the west wind most sweetly did blow in her face.
Her silken skirts scarce covered her thigh;
the god cried, o pity! and held her in chase.
‘Stay, nymph, stay, nymph,’ cried Apollo,
‘tarry and turn thee, sweet nymph, stay.
Lion nor tiger doth thee follow;
turn thy fair eyes and look this way.
O turn, o pretty sweet,
and let our red lips meet.’
Chorus:
‘Pity, o Daphne, pity, pity,
pity, o Daphne, pity me!’
2.
She gave no ear unto his cry,
but still did neglect him the more he did moan;
Though he did entreat, she still did deny,
and earnestly 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 pity me
’twill prove thy felicity.’
Chorus
3.
Away, like Venus’ doves, she flies,
the red blood her buskins did run all a-down.
His plaintive love she still denies,
and cries: ‘Help, Diana, save thy renown!
Wanton, wanton lust is near me,
cold and chaste 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 desired.
‘Accursed am I above gods and men,
with grief and laments my senses are tired.
Farewell, false Daphne, most unkind,
my love lies buried in thy grave!
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 pity me:
although not my love, yet art thou my tree.’