The sixt speach.
Christ speakes.
1
Thou art closd vp my spouse, my Deere
That none might doe thee ill,
That force of foes, nor rage of fēds
On thee might doe their vvill.
2
That noe vvild Boore of vvood so fell
Thy rootes, thy plants might marre
For I looke on thee vvith mine eies,
And vevve their ire a farre.
3
Thy plants are like svveet fruits of choice
My deere ones all they are
Of thee, & them, as of mine eies
I vvatch, & haue a care.
4
Svveet sent as Myrrhe, & cane ye yeald
As all cheefe spice of choice
So are thy plants o Deere to me
For they doe heare my voice.
Christ speakes.
5
For tast, for touch, for smell, for hevve
Thy fruits are all most pure
I ioy to see them in this plight,
And in my loue so sure.
6
From thee o spouse doth flovve full farre
Thy streames to dales, & hills,
And I the spring doe flovve to thee
To fill thy spouts, thy rills.
7
Who so of thee doth drink is drencht,
And thirsts noe more for aie
Thou art the streames of god to flowe
To soules that faint in vvaye.