MADRIGALL

LIke the Idalian Queene
Her haire about her Eyne,
And necke, on brests ripe Apples to be seen,
At first glance of the Morne
In Cyprus Gardens gathering those farie flowers
Which of her blood were borne,
I saw, but fainting saw my Paramours.
The Graces naked danc'd about the place,
The Winds and Trees amaz'd
With silence on her gaz'd,
The flowers did smile like those upon her face,
And as their Aspin stalkes those fingers bind,
That she might read my case
I wish'd to be a Hyacinth in her hand.