Lyrick — Ex Cornelio Gallo (Lydia, thou lovely Maid, whose White)

Lydia, thou lovely Maid, whose White
The Milk, and Lilly does outvie,
The Pale and Blushing Roses light,
Or polisht Indian Ivory.

Dishevel, sweet, thy yellow Hair,
Whose ray doth burnisht Gold disprize,
Dissolve thy Neck so brightly fair,
That doth from Snowy Shoulders rise.

Virgin, unvail those starry Eyes,
Whose Sable Brows like Arches spread;
Unvail those Cheeks, where the Rose lies
Streak'd with the Tyrian Purples Red.

Lead me those Lips with Coral lin'd,
And kisses mild of Doves impart,
Thou ravishest away my Mind,
Those gentle kisses steal my Heart.

Why suck'st thou from my panting Breast
The Youthful vigour of my Blood?
Hide those twine-Apples, ripe, if prest
To spring in to a Milky-flood.

From thy expanded Bosom, breathe
Perfumes Arabia doth not know;
Thy every part doth Love bequeath,
From thee all excellencies flow.

Thy Bosoms killing White then shade,
Hide that temptation from mine Eye:
Thou seest I languish, cruel Maid;
Wilt thou then go, and let me dye?