The Works of Michael Drayton :: :: University of Virginia Library

Let him imbrace his Deare, with many a friendly kisse,
For why? thy love than any wine to me more pleasant is:
In smel thou art most like, sweet odors unto me,
Thy name like precious ointment is, so sweet as sweet may be:
Therefore the Virgins al, of thee enamored are,
Entice me on to follow thee, loe, we our selves prepare:
The King hath brought me in, to chamber richly dight,
He is my joy, his love is sweet, the good in him delight.
Ye daughters of Jerusalem, although that browne I bee,
Than Arras rich or Cedars fruits, I seemlier am to see,
Disdaine me not although I be not passing faire,
For why? the glowing sunny raies discolloured have my laire:
My mothers darlings deare, with envie swelling so,
Have me constrain'd to keep their Vine, thus I mine own forgoe.
Tell me my sweet and deare, where thou thy flocke doost feed,
Or where thy litle Lamblings rest, about midday indeed?
Els shall I walke about, all wandring like a stray,
And seeke thee after other flocks, through many an unknowne way:
If that my pathes (oh Paragon) be so unknowen to thee,
Go feed thy flock amongst the tents, wher none but shepherds be.
My true and loyal Love, I may thee well compare
To famous Pharaos horses great, which in his chariots are,
Thy cheeks bedect with precious stone, most lovely to behold,
About thy neck likewise do hang great massy chaines of gold.
Fine costlie borders for my Love, of gold we wil prepare,
With silver studs accordinglie of worke surpassing rare.
Whiles he at table sat, perfumes then did I make
Of Spicknard sweet and delicate, al for my true Loves sake:
My love more sweet than Myrrhe, between my breasts doth ly,
Or Camphere, that doth spring and grow in vine of Engady.
How faire art thou my Love, my Dove, my Darling deare,
Thine eies most like unto the Doves, in sight to me appeare.

Oh how exceeding faire, and seemly to be seene,
The bed where we together lie, is hung with pleasant greene:
The beames our house uphold, they all of Cedar be,
The reaching Rafters of the same, of Fyrre, that stately tree.

The second Chapter.

I am the fragrant Flower, of brave vermilion hue,
And Lilie in the valey low, ysprong up fresh and new:
As Lillie flower excels the thorne, or litle chyer of grasse,
So far my Love the Virgins all in beautie doth surpasse.
Or as the barren crooked stocke unto the straightest tree,
No more the sonnes unto my Love may ought compared be:
To rest by his sweet side, to mee a heavenly blisse,
The fruit that springeth from my Love, exceeding pleasant is.
To Celler he me brings, of wine aboundant store,
His love displaied over me, how can I wish for more?
Fil foorth your Flagons then, whereof the fume may flie,
Bring forth your cates to comfort me, ah me, for love I die.
His left hand clipping close, about my necke doth hold,
His right doth sweetly me imbrace, and eke my corps enfold.
I charge you by the Roes and Hinds, ye Jewish daughters all,
Not once to stir nor wake my Love, until she please to call.
But stay, me thinks this is, mine owne Loves voice I heare,
Loe, how he skips from hill to hill, loe, yon he doth appeare.
My Love is like a Roe, that frisketh in the wood,
Or like the strong and stately Hart, in prime and lusty blood.
He closely shroudes himselfe behind our wall I see,
And through the gate he dooth disclose and shew himselfe to me.
And calling then, he saith, come to thine owne my Deare,
For lo, the clouds are past and gone, the skies are christal cleare:
The flowers in the field, so faire and freshly spring,
The birds do chant with merie glee, the Turtle now doth sing:
The fig-trees bear such store, that boughs with waight are bent,
The Vines with blossoms do abound, which yeeld a sweet accent.
Come to thine owne my deare, my Darling and my Dove,
Leave thou the place of thine abode, come to thine own true love:
Let me behold thy face, most pleasant to the sight,
And heare my best beloveds voice, that most doth me delight.
Destroy the subtil Fox, that doth the grapes devoure,
For loe, behold, the time is come, the vines do bud and floure.

My Love to me is true, and I likewise his owne,
Which in the Lilles takes repast, himselfe even all alone:
Until the day doth spring, or shadowes fade away,
Be as a Roe or like the Harts, which on the mountaines play.

The third Chapter.

By night within my bed, I romed here and there,
But al in vain, I could not find my Love and friendly Fere.
Then straight waies up I rose, and searching every street
Throughout the city far and neer, but him I could not meete.
The watchmen found me tho, to whom I then can say,
Have ye not seen mine owne true Love, of late come this a way:
Then passing them, I found my Love I long had sought,
And to my mothers chamber then, my darling have I brought.
I charge you by the Roes and Hinds, this vow to me you make,
Ye Jewish daughters, not to call my Love till she doe wake.
Who's that which doth from wildernes, in mighty smoke appeare,
Like the perfumes of odors sweet, which Merchants hold so dear.
About the bed of Salomon, behold, there is a band
Of threescore valiant Israelites, which al in armour stand,
All expert men of war, with sword stil ready prest,
Least foes in night time should approch, when men suspect them least:
King Salomon hath made of Liban tree so sure,
A Pallace brave, whose pillers strong are al of silver pure:
The pavement beaten gold, the hangings purple graine,
The daughters of Jerusalem with joy to entertaine.
Ye Sion daughters, see, where Salomon is set
In Royall throan, and on his head, the princely Coronet,
Wherewith his mother first, adorn'd him (as they say)
When he in mariage linked was, even on his wedding day.

The fourth Chapter.

Behold, thou art al faire my Love, my hearts delight,
Thine eies so lovely like the Doves, appear to me in sight,
Thy haire surpassing faire and seemely to the eie,
Like to a goodly heard of Goates, on Gilead mountaine hie.
Thy teeth like new washt sheep, returning from the flood,
Whereas not one is barren found, but beareth twinnes so good.
Thy lips like scarlet thred, thy talke dooth breed delight,
Thy temples like pomgranet faire doth shew to me in sight.

Thy necke like Davids Tower, which for defence doth stand,
Wherein the shieldes and targets be, of men of mightie hand.
Thy brests like twinned Roes, in prime and youthfull age,
Which feed among the Lillies sweet, their hunger to asswage.
Until the day doe spring, and night be banisht hence:
I will ascend into the mount of Myrrhe and Frankensence.
Thou art all faire my Love, most seemly eke to see,
From head to foot, from top to toe, there is no spot in thee.
Come downe from Libanon, from Libanon above,
And from Amanahs mountain hie, come to thine own true love.
From Shevers stately top, from Hermon hil so hie,
From Lions dens & from the cliffes, where lurking Leopards lie.
My Spouse and sister deare, thy love hath wounded me,
Thy lovely eie and seemly neck, hath made me yeeld to thee.
Thy love far better is, than any wine to me,
Thy odors sweet doth far surpasse, the smell where spices be.
Thy lips like hony combe, under thy tongue doth lie
The honey sweet: thy garments smel, like Libanon on hie.
My Spouse a garden is, fast under locke and kay,
Or like a Fountaine closely kept, where sealed is the way.
Like to a pleasant plot I may thee well compare,
Where Camphere, Spicknard, dainty fruits, with sweet Pomgranets are.
Even Spicknard, Saffron, Calamus & Synamon do growe,
With Incense, Myrrhe and Alloes, with many spices moe.
Oh Fountaine passing pure, oh Well of life most deare.
Oh Spring of loftie Libanon, of water christal cleare.
Ye North and Southern winds upon my garden blow,
That the sweet spice that is therein, on every side may flow.
Unto his garden place, my Love for his repast
Shall walke, and of the fruites therein, shal take a pleasant tast.

The fift Chapter.

Within my garden plot, loe, I am present now,
I gathered have the Myrrhe & spice, that in aboundance growe:
With honey, milke and wine, I have refresht me here.
Eat, drink my friends, be mery there, with harty friendly cheare.
Although in slumbering sleepe, it seemes to you I lay,
Yet heare I my beloved knock, me thinks I heare him say,
Open to me the gate my Love, my hearts delight,
For loe, my locks are all bedewed with drizling drops of night.

My garments are put off, then may I not doo so,
Shal I defile my feet I washt, so white as any snow.
Then fast even by the dore to me he shew'd his hand,
My heart was then enamoured, when as I saw him stand.
Then straight waies up I rose, to ope the dore with speed,
My handes and fingers dropped Myrrhe, upon the bar indeed.
Then opened I the dore, unto my Love at last,
But all in vaine, for why? before, my Love was gone and past.
There sought I for my love, then could I crie and call,
But him I could not find, nor he, nould answer me at all.
The watchmen found me then, as thus I walk'd astray,
They wounded me, and from my head, my vaile they took away.
Ye daughters of Jerusalem, if ye my Love doo see,
Tell him that I am sicke for love, yea, tel him this from me.
Thou peerelesse Gem of price, I pray thee to us tell,
What is thy Love, what may he be, that doth so far excell?
In my beloveds face, the Rose and Lilly strive,
Among ten thousand men not one, is found so faire alive.
His head like finest gold, with secret sweet perfume,
His curled locks hang all as black, as any Ravens plume.
His eies be like to Doves, on Rivers banks below,
Ywasht with milk, whose collours are, most gallant to the show.
His cheeks like to a plot, where spice and flowers growe,
His lips like to the Lilly white, from whence pure Myrrh doth flow,
His hands like rings of gold, with costly Chrisalet,
His belly like the Yvory white, with seemly Saphyrs set.
His legs like Pillers strong, of Marble set in gold,
His countenance like Libanon, or Cedars to behold.
His mouth it is as sweet, yea, sweet as sweet may be,
This is my Love, ye Virgins loe, even such a one is he.
Thou fairest of us al, whether is thy Lover gone,
Tel us, and we will goe with thee, thou shalt not goe alone.

The sixt Chapter.

Downe to his garden place, mine own true Love is gone,
Among the Spice and Lillies sweet, to walke himselfe alone.
True am I to my Love, and he my loving make,
Which in the Lillies makes abode, and doth his pleasure take,
With Tirzah or Jerusalem, thy beautie may be waide,
In shew like to an Armie great, whose Ensignes are displaid.

Oh turne away thine eies, for they have wounded me,
Thy haires are like a heard of Goats, on Gilead mount that be,
Thy teeth like new washt sheep, returning from the flood,
Whereas not one is barren found, but beareth twins a good,
The temples of thy head, within thy locks to showe,
Are like to the Pomgranet fruit, that in the Orchards grow.
Of Concubines four score there are, of Queens twice treble ten,
Of Virgins for the multitude, not to be numbred then.
But yet my Dove alone, and undefiled Fere,
Her mothers only daughter is, to her exceeding deare.
The Virgins saw my Love, and they have lik'd her well,
The Queens and eke the Concubines, they say she doth excell.
Who's she I doo behold, so like the morning cleare,
Or like the Moon, when towards the ful, in pride she doth appear,
Bright as the radiant raies, that from the Sun descend,
Or like an Army terrible, when Ensignes they extend.
Unto the nuts downe will I goe, and fruitfull valeyes lowe,
To see if that the Vine doo bud, and the Pomgranets growe.
My selfe I know not I, ne nothing knew I then,
Let me be like a chariot, even of thy noble men.
Return againe, oh make returne, thou Shulamite so deare,
Let us enjoy thy company, I pray thee sojorne here.
What see you in the Shulamite, in her what may you see,
But like a troupe of warlike men that in the armies be.

The seventh Chapter.

How stately are thy steps with brave and lofty pace,
Thou daintie princesse, darling deare, with comely gallant grace.
The joints of thy fair thighs, the which so straight do stand,
Are like to curious jewels wrought, by cunning workmans hand.
Thy navell like a goblet is, which stil with wine doth flowe,
Thy belly like an heape of wheat, about which, Lillies growe.
Thy breasts I may compare like to two litle Roes,
Which follow on their mothers steps, when forth to feed she goes.
Thy necke like to a Tower, of costly Ivory fram'd,
Thine eies like Heshbon waters clear, by that Bathrabbin nam'd.
Thy nose like Libanon Tower, most seemly to the eie,
Which towards Damascus citie faire, that stately town doth ly.
Thy head like Scarlet red, thy haire of purple hue,
The King in thee doth take delight, as in his Lady true.

How faire art thou my Love, and seemly to the sight,
The pleasures that abound in thee, they are my chiefe delight:
Thy stature like the Palme, the tall and straightest tree,
Thy brests, the which do thee adorne, most like to clusters be.
Upon the pleasant palme, I said I wil take holde,
And rest upon her pleasant boughes, I said I wil be bolde.
Thy breasts are like a bunch of grapes, on the most fruitful vine,
Thy nose in smel like to the fruit, of al most pure and fine.
The roofe of thy sweet mouth, like purest wine doth tast,
Which makes the very aged lagh, forgetting sorrowes past.
I am unto my Love, a faithfull friendly Fere,
And he is likewise unto me, most tender and most deare.
Goe we into the field, to sport us in the plaine,
And in the pleasant villages (my Love) let us remaine.
Then early will we rise and see, if that the vine do flourish,
And if the earth accordingly do the Pomgranets nourish.
I feele the Mandrakes smell, within our gates that be:
The sweetest things both new & olde (my Love) I kept for thee.

The eight Chapter.

Oh that thou weart my brother borne, that suckt my mothers breast:
Then sweetly would I kisse thy lippes, and by thee take my rest.
Unto my mothers closet sure, mine own Love will I bring,
And be obedient unto him in every kind of thing.
There wil I give to thee (my Love) the daintie spiced wine,
And pleasant liquor that distils from the Pomgranet fine.
With his left hand he shal support, and eke my head upreare,
And with the right most lovingly he shal imbrace his deare.
Ye daughters of Jerusalem, doo not my Love disease,
But suffer her to take her rest, so long as she shall please.
Who's that which from the wildernes, yon commeth from above,
And in this sort familiarly dooth leane upon her Love:
Under a pleasant aple tree, from whence like fruit doth spring,
Thy mother first conceived thee, even forth which did thee bring.
Let it be like a privie seale, within thy secret heart,
Or like a Signet on thy hand, thy secrets to impart:
For jealousie is like the grave, and love more strong than death,
From whose hot brands ther doth proceed a flaming fiery breath:
The flouds cannot alay his heat, nor water quench his flame,
Neither the greatest treasure, can countervaile the same.

Our litle sister hath no breasts, what shal we doo or say,
When we shal give her to her Spouse, upon her wedding day?
If that she be a wall, on that foundation sure,
A princely pallace wil we build, of silver passing pure.
And if she be a doore, she shall inclosed be
With brave and goodly squared boords, of the fine Cedar tree.
I am a mightie wall, my breasts like Towers hie,
Then am I passing beautifull in my beloveds eie.
King Salomon a vinyard had, in faire Baalhamon field,
Each one in silver yeerely dooth, a thousand peeces yeeld,
But yet my vineyard (Salomon) thy vine doth far excell,
For fruit and goodnes of the same, thou know'st it very wel.
A thousand silver peeces are, even yearely due to me,
Two thousand likewise unto them, the which her keepers be.
Oh thou that in the garden dwell'st, learne me thy voice to know,
That I may listen to the same, as thy companions doo.
Flie my beloved hence away, and be thou like the Roe,
Or as the Hart on mountaine tops, wheron sweet spices growe.