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26

Cap. IV. CATASTASIS. DESIDERIUM.

SPONSUS, SPONSA.

SPONSUS.

Quam Pulchra es Amica mea.

Sponsus.

I

Behold Thou 'art fair, my Love, behold Thou art Fair,
Let the World know, and know it Thou;
But (alas!) what Thy hidden Beauties are,
Nor thou, nor that, till by me taught, can know:
Till Thee, by all that's Beauteous I compare,
And after all rejoyn, Thou 'art yet more Fair.

II

Begin my Song! But where shall I begin?
Ah! where, but with Thy Dove-like Eyes,
Those Doors of Dia'mond, which first let me in,
And of my Passion, were the Virgin prize?
Love thence redoubled on me his thick stroaks,
But, sallying forth, lay fetter'd in thy Locks.
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III

Locks of that Head, which does like Gilead shine,
When on the Golden Fleeces there,
The jealous Sun, just ready to decline,
Ith' mid-way stops, his Tresses to compare;
But brighter far, and longer too are they,
Than Sun-beam, in the fairest Summer-day.

IV

Such is thy Hair, thy Teeth like couples thence,
All washt in Aenons streams, and shorn;
In Aenons Silver streams, and rising whence,
To th' joyful shearing House new washt they' are born:
Each has its make, and Twins they bear all round,
Nor is a barren One ith' number found.

V

And as Thy Teeth, such are Thy Lips, their Fence,
The purest Wooll, with the' noblest Dye;
And every graceful Word, that's uttred thence,
On purple Wings, to Thy' lovers Heart does flie;
Thy Cheeks, hid under Thy bright Curls, appear
Like shaded Pomgranates, but shine more clear.

VI

But, O, Thy Neck, that Tower impregnable,
How full of Beauty, and of Dread?
Like that of David, built for a Cittadel
With thousand spoyls of the' Living and the Dead.
A thousand Shields of th' Mighty hang up there,
All mighty Shields, and but thy Necklace are.
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VII

Yet such a Cittadel, and such a Tower,
To guard those Twins there was but need,
Those two Roe-twins, of all the Herd the Flower,
Which under it, among the Lillies feed;
Thy two fair Breasts, which yet to Lillies give
A tincture brighter, than they thence receive.

VIII

Till the Day come, my Love, the Bridal-Day,
For which thou less than I dost long;
Till the Nights shadows swiftly flee away,
A while I'll leave Thee, a little while be gone:
To th' Hills of Myrrh, and Frankincense I'll go,
And fetch the Morning, as it 'gins to blow.

IX

Yet (ah!) I cannot leave Thee, Love, thus soon,
My Love thus soon I cannot leave;
Our Flocks may graze, for 'tis yet scarce High-noon,
And we, till Folding time, the Hours deceive.
Thou art all fair, my Love, all fair Thou art,
And first I'll die, e're from Thee thus depart.

X

Rather a while, my Love, let 'us hand in hand,
To Liban walk, and Amana;
Shenir, and Hermon, which large views command,
And thence see how our Lambs do feed and play,
Whether unscar'd they from the Lions rest,
Or Leopards paws, and where the' next Folding's best.
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XI

They' are safe, my SPOUSE, they' are safe, but (Oh) my heart,
SISTER, my Heart (Oh) where is't gone?
For gone it is, I know, by the' pleasing smart;
Welfare poor Heart, that's from its Master flown!
But this one glance, one Eyes bright glance has done:
Who's proof for both, if thus Thou wound'st with One?

XII

Yet as Thou' hast tane my Heart, so keep it fast!
A single Chain is strong enough,
One link o'th' Chain, with which thy Neck is grac'd,
To hold, fast hold a never starting Love;
My SPOUSE, my SISTER, I'm Thy Captive made,
Bind him, nor of Thy Priso'ner be afraid!

XIII

A willing Captive, Prisoner of Thy love,
Which guess how strong, and fair it is;
So strong 't has drawn me from my Throne above,
And truly hides a God in this disguise:
So fair, that Thee no less to Heav'n 't shall raise,
To Crown Thy Maker with Immortal Bays.

XIV

But this, till to' Heav'n we come, I'll let alone,
Nor canst Thou understand it yet;
Wherefore Thy Love by things to Thee well known,
As thou canst bear, I will before Thee set;
To Wine compare 't, tho better 'tis than Wine,
And all Thy Odours are of race Divine.
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XV

Thy Lips, my SPOUSE, drop as the Hony-comb,
Hony and Milk are in Thy Tongue;
Some drops for Susten'ance, and for Med'cine some,
The Weak to nourish, and confirm the Strong:
Like Libanus, Thy perfum'd Garments smell,
Liban, that does all Mounts, for Sweets excel.

XVI

All, but that Garden, in the holy Mount,
Where I design three Nights to lie,
In Spices wrapt, as Prophets shall recount,
And notice give the World, when the' time draws nigh:
Yet such a Garden, and so sweet art Thou,
My SPOUSE, my SISTER, when Thy Spices blow.

XVII

A Garden fenc'd, and all enclos'd around,
Lockt up, and double is the Key,
With a quick Spring, that waters the' holy Ground,
And all its parching Fervors does allay;
But so seal'd up, the curious passer by
With Foot ne're soild, ne're saw it with his Eye.

XVIII

To none but its own sacred Plants it flows,
Making the place a Paradise,
Where nothing noxious, or forbidden grows,
Nothing, but what will make one truly wise:
Or make, or please, or truly keep one so;
For all there planted, as its Trees do grow.
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XIX

The Pomgranate is there, and there the Date,
The Spikenard, and the Cypress Tree,
Spikenard and Saffron, and hither brought of late,
The sweet-Cane, Cinamom, and all sorts that be
Of Frankincense, Myrrh, Aloes, and a Train
Of Princely Spices, wont in th' East to Reign.

XX

There Reign they, but here serve my Love, and me,
Whose Fountain all their drought supplies,
And flows so largely, constant, and so free,
Th' whole World may have for its necessities:
Jordan that sacred, and perpetual Flood,
Had not more streams, when like the Sea on heaps it stood.

SPONSA.

Surge Aquilo & veni Auster.

Sponsa.

I

Father Winds, that gently ride,
On downy Feathers, through the Skie,
You, that ith' cold North abide,
And Southern Gales, which cold defie!

II

North-Wind awake, and Thou, O South,
And gently on my Garden blow;
Blow, gentle Winds, with different Mouth,
That all its various scents may flow!
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III

Then on your Wings the Perfumes take,
And bear them with you gently Home;
More grateful your return they'll make,
And th' young Winds wonder whence you come.

IV

But why, O Winds, first call I you,
Let my BELOVED rather come!
More than your Gales his Breath can do,
Not show, but make my best Perfume.

V

Why comes he not? Ah! where's the Lett?
Now that his Garden's in its prime,
Now that his Fruits are fit to eat,
And may be worse another time?

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