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Virgins.
But where, ah where, can this bright Wonder be!
For, till we see Him, we are all on Fire;
We'll find Him out, or in the Search expire.

Bride.
If my Prophetic Hopes can rightly guess,
The lovely Wand'rer in his Garden is,
Among the Lilies, and the Spices; He
Is now perhaps kindly expecting Me;
Oh 'tis a Heaven of Joy to think him Mine.

Bridegroom.
And who can see those Eyes, and not be Thine?
Thy Face, where all the conqu'ring Graces meet;
Where Majesty doth Virgin-Softness greet:
Ah turn away those fair approachless Eyes;
I Love, but cannot bear the kind Surprize.

Hide, hide th' intangling Glories of thy Hair;
More bright than Streams of fluid Silver are:
Expose no more thy pearly Teeth, the while
Those rosy Cheeks put on kind Looks, and smile:
Such genuine Charms, how strongly they allure
My Soul, and all their Rival's Beams obscure.
They're numberless, my Spouse, my darling Fair;
But one, the Choice, and all her Mother bare:
The Royal Beauties saw, and bless'd the Sight;
And setting, wonder'd at a Star so bright.
Who is't, they say, Fair as the breaking Morn,
When ruddy Beams the bashful Skies adorn?
Clear as the Lamp that gilds the sable Night;
Daz'ling as Sol's unsufferable Light:
Gentle, but aweful, as a Scene of War;
At once her Graces conquer and endear.
And could'st thou think, my Love, I e'er design'd
To leave a Spouse so beautiful and kind?
I went but down into the Almond-Grove,
A lone Recess, indulgent to my Love;

Thence rang'd the pleasant Vale, whose spreading Vine
May quit my Care, perhaps, with bounteous Wine:
Where the Pomgranets blooming Fruits display
More Sanguine-Colours than the Wings of Day:
Or ere I was aware, my happy Eyes
Meet Thee, a juster Object of Surprize;
Fair as a Vision breaking from the Skies:
Scarce could my Breast my leaping Heart retain,
Scarce could my Soul th' unweildy Joy sustain,
When I beheld those welcome Eyes again.
But why that Discontent upon thy Brow?
Thou wilt not leave me, cruel Beauty, now?
Injurious Charmer, stay—What needs this Art,
To try the Faith of a too-constant Heart:
Return again; let my Companions see
The sweet Inspirer of my Flames in Thee.
Return, my Dear, return and shew the most
Victorious Face, that e'er the World could boast.