""O let the earth devour me quicke, on which I seeme too fayre, Or else this shape which is my harme by chaunging straight appayre." This piteous prayer scarsly sed: hir sinewes waxed starke, And therewithall about hir breast did grow a tender barke. Hir haire was turned into leaves, hir armes in boughes did growe, Hir feete that were ere while so swift, now rooted were as slowe. Hir crowne became the toppe, and thus of that she earst had beene, Remayned nothing in the worlde, but beautie fresh and greene. Which when that Phoebus did beholde (affection did so move) The tree to which his love was turnde he coulde no lesse but love."