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A paraphrase vpon the song of Solomon

By G. S. [i.e. George Sandys]

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Cant. VII.
 VIII. 

Cant. VII.

Sponsus.
O Princesse, thou then life more dear,
How beautifull thy feet appear;
When they, with purple ribands bound,
In golden Sandals print the ground!
Thy Ioynts, like Iewels, which impart
To wondring Eyes the Workmans Art:
Thy Navell, like a Mazer, fill'd
With Iuyce from rarest fruits distill'd:
Thy Belly, like a heap of wheat,
With never fading Lillies set:

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Thy Breasts two Roes, new weaned, show,
Which fell at once from one faire Doe:
Thy Neck, an Ivory Tower displayes:
Thine Eyes, which shine with equall Raies,
Like Heshbons Pooles by Bathrabim,
Where silver-scaled fishes swim:
Thy Nose, presents that Tower upon
The face of flowry Lebanon;
Which all the pleasant plain survays,
Where Abana her streames displays:
Thy Head, like Carmel, cloth'd with shade;
Whose Tresses Tyrian fillets brai'd.
The King, from Cypresse Galleryes,
This Chaine of strong Affection tyes.
How pleasant! O how exquisite!
Thy Beautie fram'd for sweet delight!
Thy Stature, like an upright Palme:
Thy Breasts, like Clusters dropping Balme.

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I will ascend the Palmes high Crown,
Whose Boughes Victorious Hands renown,
And from the spreading Branches Root,
Will gather her delitious fruit.
Thy Breasts shall like ripe Clusters swell,
Thy Breath like new pull'd Citrons smell:
Choice wines shall from thy Palate spring,
Most acceptable to the King:
Which sweetly shall descend, and make
The Dumb to speak, the Dead to wake.

Sponsa.
I, my Belov'd, am onely thine,
And thou by just exchange art mine;
Come, let us tread the pleasant fields,
Tast we what fruit the Country yields,
And in the Villages repose
When shades of Night all Formes inclose.

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Then with the early Morn repaire
To our new Vineyard; see if there
The tender Vines thrust forth their Gems,
And Granets blossom on their Stems,
There, where no frosts our Spring destroy,
Shalt thou alone my Love enjoy.
How sweet a smell our Mandrakes yield!
Our Gates with various fruits are fill'd:
Fruits that are old, fruits from the tree
New gathered, all preserv'd for thee.