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The VERSION. Chap. I.

1

The Song which doth all Songs excell,
Written by Solomon,
The Wisest King of Israel
And Blessed Davids Son.
The Church to CHRIST.

2

Come near, Come nearer yet and move
Thy Sweetest lips to mine.
For why? Thy Love (who art all Love)
Exceeds the Richest Wine.

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3

Like to an Ointment poured out
Is thy Sweet Name and Favour:
Glad Virgins Compass Thee about
For thy good Ointments Savour.

4

O draw Me with thy Cords of Love,
VVe will Run after Thee.
The King into his Rooms above
Hath now Conducted Me.
Thy Beams will make our Faces shine,
In Thee we will Rejoyce,
Thy love is more to us then VVine,
Thou art the uprights Choice.

5

Ye Daughters of Jerusalem,
Tho' I am Black, yet Fair;
Like Kedars Tents, like Ornaments
VVhich Solomons Bed doth wear.

6

Look not with a disdainful Ey
Upon my Sun-Burnt Face.
My Mothers Children Rag'd at Me
And wrought me much disgrace.
Such was their Envy, such their Grudge,
Their Vines must be inspected,

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VVhilest at their Vines I was their Drudge,
Mine own were quite neglected.

7

But, O Thou whom my Soul doth love,
Tell Me now from thy Breast,
VVhere feeds thy Flock; where doth it move?
VVhere is its Noon-tide-rest?
VVhy should I stray and lose my way,
Till I at last do Fall.
Among thy Fellowes Flocks, as they
Themselves do proudly call?

CHRIST.

8

O Fairest Fair, then go and Trace
The Footsteps of my Sheep,
And Feed my Kids beside the place
Where my good Shepherds keep.

9

My Love, I have compared Thee
To those Egyptian Mares
Which in King Pharaoh, Chariots Flee.
O Fairest of all Faires!

10

Thy Cheeks are comely to behold
Which Rowes of Jewels Deck,
Large Chains of pure and Shining Gold,
Adorn thy Royal Neck.

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11

I and my Father, we will make
Borders of Gold for Thee,
With Silver Studs for thy dear Sake,
That thou may'st Richer be.

The Church

12

The King doth at his Table sit,
And I that love Him well
Do poure my Spikenard on his Feet,
Which gives a Fragrant smell.

13

My Welbeloved is to Me
A Pomander of Myrrh;
Betwixt my Breasts all Night shall He
Be Lodg'd and never Stir.

14

My Welbeloved is to Me
Like Aromatick Wines;
Like Clusters of the Camphire-Tree,
Among Engeddi-Vines.

CHRIST.

15

Lo thou art Fair, my only Love,
My Love, Lo thou art Fair.
Thou art my Love, thou art my Dove,
Doves Eyes in Thee appear.


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The Church.

16

Nay, my Beloved, Thou art Fair,
My Fairness is from Thee.
And thou art Sweet beyond Compare.
VVhat a green Bed have we!

17

The Beams are Cedars where we dwell,
So strong they will not Stir.
The Rafters send a pleasant smell,
For they are made of Fir.