University of Virginia Library

Cant. IV.

Sponsus.
How faire art thou, how wondrous faire!
Thy Dove like Eyes in shades of Haire;
Whose dangling Curles appear like flocks
Of Climing Goats from Gileads Rocks:
Thy Teeth like Sheep in their return
From Chison, washt, and smoothly shorn,
None markt for barren, none of all
But equall Twins at once let fall.
Thy Lips like threds of scarlet show,
Whence gracefull accents sweetly flow:
Thy Cheeks like Punicke Apples are,
Which blush beneath thy flowing haire:
Thy Neck like Davids Armory,
With Polisht Marble rais'd on high;
Whose walls a thousand Shields adorn,
By Worthies oft in Battell born:
Thy Breasts are Twins, Twins of the Roe;
There grazing where the Lillies grow.
I to the Mountains will retire,
Where bleeding Trees perfumes expire:
Vntill the Morning fleck the sky,
And Nights repulsed Shadows fly.
How beautifull thy looks appear!
In every part from blemish clear!
My Spouse, at length let us be gone;
Leave we the fragrant Lebanon:
Look down from Amana, Look down
From Sheners top and Hermons Crown:
From Hils where dreadfull Lions rave,
And from the Mountain Leopards Cave.
Thou who my Spouse and Sister art;
How hast thou ravished my heart!
Struck with one glance of thy bright Eyes!
One Haire of thine in Fetters tyes!
Thy Beautie, Sister, is divine,
Thy love, my Spouse, more strong then wine.
Thy Odors, far more redolent
Then Spices from Panchaia sent:
Thy Lips drop Honey, from below
Thy Pallate Milke and Honey flow.
Thy Robes a sweeter Odor cast,
Then Lebanon with Cedars grac't.
My Love, by mutuall vows assur'd,
A Garden is with strength immur'd:
A Christall Fountain, a cleare Spring,
Shut up and sealed with my Ring:
An Orchard stor'd with pleasant Fruits;
Pomgranet Trees, there spread their roots,
Where sweetly smelling Camphire blows,
And never dying Spiknard grows;
Sweet Spiknard, Crocus newly blown,
Sweet Calamus and Cinamon:
Those Trees which sacred Incense shed,
The Teares of Myrrh, and Aloes bled
From bitter wounds; with all the rare
Productions which perfume the Aire.

Sponsa.
Those living Springs from thee proceed,
Whose Drils our plants with moisture feed:
Like Christall Streams which issue from
The Fountain-fruitfull Lebanon.
You cooler Winds breath from the North,
You dropping Southern Gales break forth;
On this our Garden gently blow,
And through the Land rich Odors throw.
Come Love, Come with a Lovers hast,
Our riper fruits and spices tast.