The second Canticle

WHile that the King was at repast,
My Spikenard his perfumings cast;
And twixt my breasts repos'd my Deare:
My Loue, who is as sweet to me
As Myrrhe or Camphire bundles be,
Which at Engaddi Uineyards are.

Loe, thou art faire; loe, thou my Loue
Art faire, and eyed like the Doue:
Thou faire, and pleasant art my Deare.
And loe, our Bed with flowers is strow'd:
Our House is beam'd with Cedar-wood;
And of the Firre our Rafters are.

I am the Rose that Sharon yeelds,
The Rose and Lilly of the fields,
And flower of all the Dales below.
My Loue among the Daughters showes,
As when a sweet and beauteous Rose
Amid her bush of thornes doth grow.

Among the Sonnes, such is my Deare,
As doth an Apple-tree appeare,
Within a shrubby Forrest plac't.
I sate me downn beneath his shade,
(Whereto a great desire I had)
And sweet his fruit was to my tast.

Me, to his banquet-house he bare,
Eu'n where his wine-prouisions are:
And there his Loue my banner was.
With Flagons me from fainting stay:
With Apples comfort me, I pray;
For I am sicke of Loue (alas.)

My head with his left hand he stayd:
His right-hand ouer me he layd.
And by the Harts and Roes (said he)
You Daughters of Ierusalem
Stirre not (for you I charge by them)
Nor wake my Loue till pleas'd she be.