The Song of Songs, Chapter IV: The Version

Christ.
LO, thou art Fair, my only Love,
My Love, lo! thou art Fair;
Thine Eyes are like those of the Dove,
Within thy Locks of Hair;
Thy Hairy Locks are like Goats Flocks,
Which from Mount Gilead look.

So are thy Teeth like well-shorn Sheep;
Come from the Washing Brook;
They Pregnant are as well as Fair,
For Fruit as well as View;
For each of them her Twins doth bear,
There's […]ot one barren Ewe.

Thy Lips are like a Scarlet-thread,
Thy Speech is sweet and fine;
Within thy Locks thy Temples Red,
Like broke Pomegranate shine.

Thy Neck is like to David's Tower,
Strong built, and raised high;
A thousand Shields for Men of Power
Hang in that Armory.

Thy two Breasts are like two young Roes
Well shap'd and well agreed;
For they are loving Twins, and those
Among the Lillies feed.

Until the Day have chas'd away
The Dusky Shades, I will
Betake me to the Mount of Myrrh,
And to the Incense-Hill.

All over fair, my Love, thou art,
And so thou seem'st to me;
There is not one uncomly Part,
Not one dark Spot in Thee.

Come, Love, with me from Lebanon,
From Lebanon, with me,
Since Thou and I are joyn'd in One,
Thy Lebanon I'll be:
From Shenirs Top, from Hermon book,
And from Amana high,
Those Lions Dens must be forsook,
And where the Leoparc's lie.

My Spouse, my Sister, thou hast Gain'd
A perfect Victory
Over my Heart by thy bright chain,
And by thy Brighter Eye.

How fair and pleasant is thy Love,
My dearest spause to Me!
O how I prize it far above
The Richest wines that be!
O how my Sisters Ointments smell,
What sweetness do they yield!
This pleasant scent doth far Excel
The sweet Arabian Field.

Thy Lips drop like the Honey comb,
There Milk with Honey Flows;
I smell the smel[…]s of Lebanon, from
The Garments of my Spouse.

My Sister and my Spouse is Veil'd,
That she may be suppos'd;
A Spring shut up, a Fountain seal'd,
A Garden well enclos'd.

Thou hast a pleasant Nursery,
Where sweet Pomegranates grow,
And Fruits which please both Taste and Eye,
Thereto the Spices flow.

As Camphire, Spikenard, Calamus,
Saffron and Cynamon,
Myrrh, Aloes and Incense Trees.
With each Spice of Renown.

A Garden Fountain is my Love,
A Living Well is She;
Like Lebanons Streams which swiftly move,
And down to Jordan flee.

The Church.
Am I a Garden? Then, O North,
Awake, and on it Breath;
Thy quickning Breath will summon forth
The Odours from Beneath:
Am I a Garden? Then, O South,
Come, on this Garden blow!
One Sovereign Blast out of thy Mouth,
vvill make its Spices flow:
Then, then, into his Paradise,
Let my Beloved come;
And eat his Fruits, and get his Spice,
And count himself at home.