The seauenth Canticle

OH! If him you happen on,
Who is my Beloued-One,
Daughters of Ierusalem;
I adiure you, seriously,
To informe him, how that I
Sicke am growne of loue, for him.

Fairest of all women, tell
How thy Louer doth excell,
More then other Louers doe.
Thy Beloued, what is he
More then other Louers be,
That thou dost adiure vs so?

He, in whom I so delight,
Is the purest red and white:
Of tenne thousands chiefe is he.
Like fine gold, his head doth show,
Whereon curled Lockes doe grow;
And a Rauen-blacke they be.

Like the milky Doues that bide
By the Riuers, He is Ey'd:
Full, and fitly set they are.
Cheekes like spicy-beds hath he;
Or like flowres that fairest be.
Lips, like Lillies, dropping Myrrhe.

Hands, like rings of gold, beset
With the pretious Chrysolet.
Belly'd, like white Iuorie
Wrought about with Saphir's rich.
Legs like Marble-Pillers, which
Set on golden Bases be.

Fac'd like Libanus is He.
Goodly, as the Cedar-tree;
Sweetnesse breathing out of him.
He is louely, eu'ry where.
This my Friend is, this my Deare,
Daughters of Ierusalem.

Oh thou Fairest (eu'ry way)
Of all women! whither may
Thy Beloued turned be?
Tell vs whither he is gone,
Who is thy Beloued-one,
That we seeke him may with Thee?

To his Garden went my Deare,
To the beds of spices there;
Where he Feeds, and Lillies gets.
I, my Loues am, and (alone)
Mine, is my Beloued-one,
Who among the Lyllies eates.