A paraphrase upon the canticles and some select hymns of the New and Old Testament, with other occasional compositions in English verse. By Samuel Woodford |
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 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. | V. CATASTASIS. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
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 | A paraphrase upon the canticles |  |
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V. CATASTASIS.
SPONSUS. SPONSA. CHORUS.SPONSUS.
Veni in Hortum meum Soror.
Sponsus.
I
I heard Thee call, my Sister, my SPOUSE,I heard Thee call, and I came away;
To my Garden I came, and as Lovers use,
Have gath'red each Flower in my Walk that lay;
My Myrrh, and my Spices, and all that is rare,
And thus to my Garden I'll often repair.
II
So pleased I was with each choice delight,And delights such as Thine I but rarely meet;
That, scarce knowing how, I forgot my self quite,
Nor took time enough to choose only the sweet;
My Hony and Hony-comb at once devour'd,
And with my Wine, Milk into the Bowl pour'd.
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III
Chear up, my Friends, and eat your fill,Chear up, and eat, here's store enough,
Thanks to my bounteous Love,
And drink, drink plenteously, what each one will!
“Who fears excess, or fondly thinks to spare,
“Disparages that Heav'n, whose Guests we are.
SPONSA.
Ego dormio, & cor meum vigilat.
Sponsa.
All as I slept, but with my waking mind,
(My Heart slept not, tho sleep my Eyes did bind,
And on my Temples his soft Fillet ti'd,
But as I slept and) dead to all beside,
Liv'd to my LOVE, a Voice I seem'd to hear,
A shrilling Voice, and pitteous, pierc't my ear;
A Voice well known, 'twas my BELOVED's Voice,
And at the Door he made th' appointed Noise,
Knocking, and calling, Why comes not my Love?
“Open my SISTER, my 'Undefil'd, my Dove,
“Open, I pray Thee, nor be so unkind,
“Thus to treat him, who's come thy Love to find;
“A long, and weary Journey come ith' Night,
“Weary and wet, by the Moon's dusky Light.
“Lo! how my Head with the moist Dew is fill'd,
“And the Nights drops through all my Curls distill'd!
(My Heart slept not, tho sleep my Eyes did bind,
And on my Temples his soft Fillet ti'd,
But as I slept and) dead to all beside,
Liv'd to my LOVE, a Voice I seem'd to hear,
A shrilling Voice, and pitteous, pierc't my ear;
A Voice well known, 'twas my BELOVED's Voice,
And at the Door he made th' appointed Noise,
Knocking, and calling, Why comes not my Love?
“Open my SISTER, my 'Undefil'd, my Dove,
“Open, I pray Thee, nor be so unkind,
“Thus to treat him, who's come thy Love to find;
“A long, and weary Journey come ith' Night,
“Weary and wet, by the Moon's dusky Light.
“Lo! how my Head with the moist Dew is fill'd,
“And the Nights drops through all my Curls distill'd!
“And art Thou come, I flatteringly repli'd,
“But why, my Dear, so late, without a Guide?
“I fear it much, but (ah!) I'm now in Bed;
“And many a sad distrust nights horrors breed,
“He're in the dark, ith' dark here all alone;
“My Vest's put off, How shall I put it on?
“My Feet are washt too from the Days foul soil,
“Nor with new sullies would I them defile.
“O, how I tremble, and would gladly rise,
“But dare not, (Oh!) I dare not, LOVE how dark it is!
“But why, my Dear, so late, without a Guide?
“I fear it much, but (ah!) I'm now in Bed;
“And many a sad distrust nights horrors breed,
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“My Vest's put off, How shall I put it on?
“My Feet are washt too from the Days foul soil,
“Nor with new sullies would I them defile.
“O, how I tremble, and would gladly rise,
“But dare not, (Oh!) I dare not, LOVE how dark it is!
I spake, but 'twas excuse: To be deni'd,
Unwilling he, still for admission cry'd.
Drawing the Latch, and lifting with his Hand
The easie Door; grieving he thus should stand,
My Heart was in me mov'd, and I began
To pitty him, and my' unjust self disdain;
At his so meek attendance did relent,
And of my own unlovelike words repent.
So up I rose in haste, to let him in,
Who was my LOVE, and had so patient been.
I rose, and to the Door like Lightning flew,
To th' very place, where he the Latch first drew.
My Hands dropt Myrrh, which on the Door he left,
Pure Myrrh, in eve'ry chink of th' Door, and cleft,
Myrrh on the Lock, in every ward was Myrrh,
And Myrrh, where every busie Finger I could stir.
But opening,—Woe's me! he was gone;
Himself, my dearest LOVE, had thence withdrawn.
My Soul was gone too, roused as I lay,
And heard him speak, but with him fled away.
So pensive, all about I for him sought,
Sought curiously about, but found him not:
Call'd him by Name, begg'd his return to have,
I call'd, and sought, but he no answer gave.
Nor hear, nor find him could I, but they found me,
They, who the Warders of the City be:
Unlike in Court'sie, tho alike in Name
Those Just ones, to 'whom in my first search I came,
Who let me pass unwrong'd; these barba'rously
Struck, and did more than strike, have wounded me:
And though by place, and office bound to look
No' assaults be made, my torn Vail rudely took.
Unwilling he, still for admission cry'd.
Drawing the Latch, and lifting with his Hand
The easie Door; grieving he thus should stand,
My Heart was in me mov'd, and I began
To pitty him, and my' unjust self disdain;
At his so meek attendance did relent,
And of my own unlovelike words repent.
So up I rose in haste, to let him in,
Who was my LOVE, and had so patient been.
I rose, and to the Door like Lightning flew,
To th' very place, where he the Latch first drew.
My Hands dropt Myrrh, which on the Door he left,
Pure Myrrh, in eve'ry chink of th' Door, and cleft,
Myrrh on the Lock, in every ward was Myrrh,
And Myrrh, where every busie Finger I could stir.
But opening,—Woe's me! he was gone;
Himself, my dearest LOVE, had thence withdrawn.
My Soul was gone too, roused as I lay,
And heard him speak, but with him fled away.
So pensive, all about I for him sought,
Sought curiously about, but found him not:
Call'd him by Name, begg'd his return to have,
I call'd, and sought, but he no answer gave.
Nor hear, nor find him could I, but they found me,
They, who the Warders of the City be:
Unlike in Court'sie, tho alike in Name
Those Just ones, to 'whom in my first search I came,
Who let me pass unwrong'd; these barba'rously
Struck, and did more than strike, have wounded me:
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No' assaults be made, my torn Vail rudely took.
But you, fair Daughters of Jerusalem,
From whom much better things to hope I seem,
Worthy your selves, and worthy your bright stem.
If you chance my Love to find,
Virgins, be to' a Virgin kind!
If you chance my LOVE to meet,
Virgins, be to a Virgin sweet!
Sweet, and kind so Love to y'ou be,
As you are kind, and sweet to me!
I charge you, I charge you by all that is dear,
My LOVE to inform, that his Wounds I do bear,
Sick to death with his Love, without his care.
From whom much better things to hope I seem,
Worthy your selves, and worthy your bright stem.
If you chance my Love to find,
Virgins, be to' a Virgin kind!
If you chance my LOVE to meet,
Virgins, be to a Virgin sweet!
Sweet, and kind so Love to y'ou be,
As you are kind, and sweet to me!
I charge you, I charge you by all that is dear,
My LOVE to inform, that his Wounds I do bear,
Sick to death with his Love, without his care.
CHORUS Filiarum Hierosolymitanarum.
Qualis est Dilectus tuus.
Chorus.
Fairest of Women, if we find
Thy LOVE, we'll to Thy suit be kind.
Fairest of Women, if we meet
Thy LOVE, we'll be as Thou art, sweet.
(Sweet, and kind, so Love to us be
As we are kind and sweet to Thee!)
Tell him all thou hast charg'd us,
In terms, like Thine, obsequious.
But, if unseasonable it is not,
Nor we be too o're curious thought,
Be pleas'd t' advise us, what above
All other Lovers, is Thy LOVE,
In Air, and rich Endowments large,
That us Thou giv'st so strict a charge?
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SPONSA.
Dilectus meus candidus & rubicundus.
Sponsa.
Fair Ones, tho that, which you of me require,
And which my self should in your place desire,
Be far above all Art, or Skill of mine
As it deserves in Colours to design,
Yet that I may my just Compliance show,
The best that's in my power I'll gladly do.
And which my self should in your place desire,
Be far above all Art, or Skill of mine
As it deserves in Colours to design,
Yet that I may my just Compliance show,
The best that's in my power I'll gladly do.
Help, help me LOVE, to give each part its grace,
Nor from my humble Verse, or Heart, their Lines efface!
Nor from my humble Verse, or Heart, their Lines efface!
WHITE, and ruddy is my LOVE,
As when the Rose and Lilly strove.
White and pure, as Mid-day Light;
Ruddy as Clouds that flie the Night,
And e'en or'e-taken blushing run,
Blushing to o're-take the setting Sun,
And with him in the Sea headlong plunge down.
The Banner worthy 'alone to bear,
Under which Myriads listed are.
Around his Head a Ray divine,
Bright as the purest Gold does shine.
His Locks as any Raven black,
Hang in loose Curls a-down his Back.
His Eyes like Doves by' a Rivers side,
Well set, and with a decence wide,
As washt in Milk, are lovely white,
But sparkling Fire from the killing sight.
His Cheeks with spicy mixtures flow,
Flourets ith' downy Borders grow.
His Lips the choicest Myrrh distill,
Lillies the parting Valley fill.
His Hands with Rings of Berril set,
Of Jacynct, and of Chrysolet.
His Chest's like polisht Ivory,
Where Veins of liquid Saphir lie.
Two Pedestals of solid Gold
His Marble-pillar'd Thighs uphold.
Libanus only is his Peer,
Ith' fairest Cedar growing there.
Strait as a Cedar and as tall,
(By Trees to express the Natural)
But when he speaks, so 'himself he is,
With every Grace, and every Bliss,
Whole Liba'nus is unfit to be,
With all its stores, the Pourtraict of his Deity.
As when the Rose and Lilly strove.
White and pure, as Mid-day Light;
Ruddy as Clouds that flie the Night,
And e'en or'e-taken blushing run,
Blushing to o're-take the setting Sun,
And with him in the Sea headlong plunge down.
The Banner worthy 'alone to bear,
Under which Myriads listed are.
Around his Head a Ray divine,
Bright as the purest Gold does shine.
His Locks as any Raven black,
Hang in loose Curls a-down his Back.
His Eyes like Doves by' a Rivers side,
Well set, and with a decence wide,
As washt in Milk, are lovely white,
But sparkling Fire from the killing sight.
His Cheeks with spicy mixtures flow,
Flourets ith' downy Borders grow.
His Lips the choicest Myrrh distill,
Lillies the parting Valley fill.
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Of Jacynct, and of Chrysolet.
His Chest's like polisht Ivory,
Where Veins of liquid Saphir lie.
Two Pedestals of solid Gold
His Marble-pillar'd Thighs uphold.
Libanus only is his Peer,
Ith' fairest Cedar growing there.
Strait as a Cedar and as tall,
(By Trees to express the Natural)
But when he speaks, so 'himself he is,
With every Grace, and every Bliss,
Whole Liba'nus is unfit to be,
With all its stores, the Pourtraict of his Deity.
Such, fair Daughters of Jerusalem,
Such is my LOVE, and such my Friend;
If such an One you chance to find,
Seise him for me, when y'have by th' Marks discover'd him.
Such is my LOVE, and such my Friend;
If such an One you chance to find,
Seise him for me, when y'have by th' Marks discover'd him.
| A paraphrase upon the canticles | |