The eight Canticle

BEautifull art thou my Deare:
Thou as louely art, as are
Tirzah or Ierusalem
(As the beautiful'st of them)
And as much thou mak'st afraid,
As arm'd Troupes with flaggs displaid.

Turne away those eyes of thine.
Doe not fixe them so, on mine:
For, there beame forth (from thy sight,)
Sweets, that ouercome me quite:
And, thy Lockes, like kidlings be,
Which from Gilead hill we see.

Like those Ewes thy Teeth doe show
Which in rowes from washing goe,
When among them there is none
Twinlesse nor a barren-one.
And (within thy lockes) thy Browes
Like the cut-Pomegranat showes.

There are with her sixtie Queenes;
There are eighty Concubines:
And, the Dam'sels, they possesse,
Are in number number-lesse:
But, my Doue is all alone,
And an vndefiled-one.

Shee's her Mothers only Deare;
And, her ioy that her did beare.
When the Daughters her surueyd,
That she blessed was, they said:
Shee was praysed of the Queenes,
And among the Concubines.

Who is shee (when forth shee goes)
That so like the Morning showes?
Beautifull, as is the Moone,
Purely bright as is the Sunne;
And appearing full of dread,
Like an Host with ensignes spread?

To the Nut-yard downe went I;
(And the Uales encrease to spie)
To behold the Uine-buds come,
And to see Pomegranats bloome:
But, the Princes Charrets did
Uexe me so, I nought could heed.

Turne, oh turne, thou Shulamite,
Turne, oh turne thee to our sight.
What I pray is that, which you
In the Shulamite would view,
But that (to appearance) shee
Shewes like Troupes that armed be?