ACTAEON heare, unhappie man behoulde,
When in the well, hee sawe Diana brighte,
With greedie lookes, hee waxed over boulde,
That to a stagge hee was transformed righte,
Whereat amasde, hee thought to runne awaie,
But straighte his howndes did rente hym, for their praie.
By which is ment, That those whoe do pursue
Theire fancies fonde, and thinges unlawfull crave,
Like brutishe beastes appeare unto the viewe,
And shall at lenghte, Actaeons guerdon have:
And as his houndes, soe theire affections base,
Shall them devowre, and all their deedes deface.