I must have wanton poets, pleasant wits,
Musicians that with touching of a string
May draw the pliant king which way I please.
[...] Sometime a lovely boy in Dian's shape,
[...] Shall bathe him in a spring, and there hard by
One like Actaeon peeping through the grove
Shall by the angry goddess be transformed,
And running in the likeness of an hart
By yelping hounds pulled down and seem to die.
  (Edward II I.i.50-69)