Classic Poem

Oft have I heard my lief Corydon report on a love-day,
When bonny maids do meet with the swains in the valley by Tempe,
How bright eyed his Phyllis was, how lovely they glanced,
When fro th'arches ebon black, flew looks as a lightning,
That set afire with piercing flames even hearts adamantine:
Face rose hued, cherry red, with a silver taint like a lily.
Venus' pride might abate, might abash with a blush to behold her.
Phoebus' wires compar'd to her hairs unworthy the praising.
Juno's state, and Pallas' wit disgrac'd with the Graces,
That grac'd her, whom poor Corydon did choose for a love-mate:
Ah, but had Corydon now seen the star that Alexis
Likes and loves so dear, that he melts to sighs when he sees her.
Did Corydon but see those eyes, those amorous eyelids,
From whence fly holy flames of death or life in a moment.
Ah, did he see that face, those hairs that Venus, Apollo
Basht to behold, and both disgrac'd, did grieve, that a creature
Should exceed in hue, compare both a god and a goddess:
Ah, had he seen my sweet paramour, the saint of Alexis,
Then had he said, Phyllis, sit down surpassed in all points,
For there is one more fair than thou, beloved of Alexis.