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Bridegroom.
Tho' all the lower World should ransack'd be,
There could be found no Parallel for Thee:
Thy Eyes like Doves, thy fair intangling Locks,
Curled, and soft as Gilead's Milky Flocks:
Like them thy Pearly Teeth appear, for so
Unsully'd from the Crystal Streams they go.
But O! To what may I thy Lips compare?
Since fragrant Roses bloom not half so fair.
The Morning ne'er with such a Crimson blush'd,
When from the Arms of sooty Night she rush'd.
The ripe Pomgranate's Scarlets are but faint,
To those fresh Beauties which thy Cheeks do paint.

Thy Neck and Breasts, in Whiteness, do out-go
Ungather'd Lilies, or descending Snow.
And till the Dawn of that expected Day,
When all my radiant Glories I display,
And chace at once, th' injurious Shades away:
I'll on the Hills of Frankincense reside,
And pass the Time with Thee, my Charming Bride;
My Love, in whom such vast Perfections meet,
As render Thee transcendently compleat:
Then, come with me, from Lebanon, my Spouse,
O come, and look beyond this Scene of Woes:
Thou may'st, and yet it is but darkly, see
The bright Abodes I have prepar'd for Thee.
So sweet she looks, that in blest Transports I,
Meet the believing Glances of her Eye;
My All on Earth, my Sister, and my Spouse;
Whom from a vast Eternity I chose:
Not Golden Goblets, crown'd with noble Wine,
E'er gave such elevating Joys as Thine;

Such, as the soft Expressions of thy Love;
So much those Dear, those charming Accents move.
My Love is like a flowry Mansion wall'd,
Or some reserved Crystal-Fountain seal'd;
Whose Waves, untouch'd, thro' secret Channels slide,
Untainted, as the Silver Streams, that glide
From Heaven, assaulting Lebanon; and fair,
As beauteous Eden's gilded Currents were.

Bride.
Were I a Garden, ev'ry Flow'r in me
Should proudly yield their conscious Sweets to thee;
The ruddy Fruit should thy Arrival greet,
And smile, and gently bend, thy Lips to meet.

Bridegroom.
So strongly thy kind Invitations move,
I will my Garden see, my Garden, and my Love;
Not Hybla's Hives such precious Sweets can yield,
Nor Clusters brought from rich Engeddy's Field,
Which, to my Lips, I'll raise with eager Haste,
My Lips, that long'd the Heav'nly Fruit to taste.