(From/uit: the Roxburghe Ballad Collection, I:388)

When Daphne from faire Phoebus did flie,
The West winde most sweetly did blow in her face:
Her silken Scarfe scarce shaddowed her eyes, 
The God cried, O pitie, and held her in chace,
Stay Nimph, stay Nimph, cryes Apollo,
Tarry, and turn thee, Sweet Nimph stay,
Lion nor tyger doth thee follow:
Turn thy faire eye and look this away.
O turn O prettie sweet,
And let our red lips meet:
Pittie O Daphne, pittie O pitty me. 
Pittie O Daphne pittie me.

She gave no eare unto his cry,
But still did neglect him the more he did mone;
He still did entreat, she still did denie,
And earnestly prayes him to leave her alone. 
Never never cryes Apollo,
Unlesse to love thou do consent:
But still with my voice so hollow,
Ile crie to thee, while life be spent. 
But if thou turn to me,
I will praise thy felicitie.
Pitty O Daphne, pittie O me, 
Pitty O Daphne, pitty me.

Away like Venus dove she flies,
The red blood her buskins did run all adowne,
H[is] plaintiffe love she now denies
Crying, help help Diana and save my renowne:
Wanton wanton lust is neare me.
Cold and chaste Diana aid, 
Let the earth a virgin beare me:
Or devoure me quick a maid:
Diana heard her pray,
And turned her to a Bay.
Pittie O Daphne, pittie, O pittie me, 
Pitty O Daphne, pittie me.

Amazed stood Apollo then,
While he beheld Daphne turn'd as she desired,
Accurst I am above Gods and men, 
With griefe and laments my sences are tired.
Farewel false Daphne most unkinde,
My love is buried in this grave,
Long have I sought love, yet love could not finde.
Therefore is this my Epitaph
This tree doth Daphne cover,
That never pitied lover, 
Farewell false Daphne, that would not pittie me,
Though not my Love, yet art thou my Tree.