The sixt Canticle

Arise thou North-winde from the North,
And from the South, thou South-winde blowe,
Upon my Garden breathe yee forth,
That so my Spices (there that growe,)
From thence abundantly may flowe.
And to thy Garden come my Deare,
To eate thy fruites of pleasure there.

My Sister and espoused-peere,
Unto my Garden I am come;
My Spice I gather'd, with my Myrrhe,
I ate my hony in the Combe,
And drunke my wine with milke among.
Come Friends and best-belou'd of me;
Come eate, and drinke, and merry be.

I slept, but yet my heart did wake.
It is my Loue I knocking heare.
It was his voice: and thus he spake;
Come open vnto me my Deare,
My Loue, my Doue, my spotlesse-peere.
For, with the deaw my head is dight:
My lockes with droppings of the night.

Loe, I haue now vndressed me;
Why should I clothe me as before?
And since my feet cleane washed be,
Why should I soyle them any more?
Then through the creuice of the dore
Appear'd the hand of my Belou'd;
And towards him, my heart was moou'd.

I rose vnto my Loue to ope,
And from my hands distilled Myrrhe:
Pure Myrrhe did from my fingers drop,
Upon the handles of the Barre.
But then departed was my Deare.
When by his voice I knew 'twas he,
My heart was like to faint in me.

I sought; but seene he could not be.
I cal'd but heard no answere sound.
The Citty-watchmen met with me,
As they were walking of the Round,
And gaue me stripes that made a wound:
Yea, they that watch and ward the wall,
Eu'n, they haue tooke away my vaile.