Cant. I.
SPONSA.
IOyn thy life breathing lips to mine;
Thy love excels the joy of Wine:
Thy Odors, ô how redolent!
Attract me with their pleasing sent;
These sweetly flowing from thy Name,
Our Virgins with desire inflame.
A paraphrase vpon the Song of Solomon by G. S.
About this Item
- Title
- A paraphrase vpon the Song of Solomon by G. S.
- Author
- Sandys, George, 1578-1644.
- Publication
- London :: Printed for Iohn Legatt,
- 1641.
- Rights/Permissions
-
To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.
- Subject terms
- Bible. -- O.T. -- Song of Solomon -- Paraphrases, English.
- Cite this Item
-
"A paraphrase vpon the Song of Solomon by G. S." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A27982.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 16, 2024.
Pages
Page 2
O draw me, my Belov'd, and we
With winged feet will follow thee.
Thy longing Spouse at length, great King,
To thy prepared Chamber bring:
Then shall our Souls, intranst with joy,
In thy due praise their Zeal imploy;
Thy celebrated loves recite,
Which more then crowned cups delight.
Who Truth and sacred Iustice prise,
To thee their hearts shall Sacrifice.
You Daughters of Ierusalem,
You Branches of that holy Stem,
Though black, in favour I excell:
Black as the Tents of Ismael;
Yet gracefull, as the burnisht Throne,
And Ornaments of Solomon.
Despise not my discoloured look:
This Tawney from the Sun I took.
Page 3
My Mothers Sons envy'd my worth,
And swoln with malice, thrust me forth
To Keep their Vines in heat of Day,
While, ah, my own neglected lay.
More lov'd then all of humane Seed,
O tell me where thy Sheep do feed;
Where rest they, in what gratefull shade,
When scorching Beames the fields invade!
Why should I stray, and turn to those
Who are but thy disguised Foes?
SPONSVS.
O thou the fairest of thy kind!
I will inform thy troubled Mind.
Follow the way my Flock had led,
And in their steps securely tread;
Thy Kids feed on the fruitfull plains,
Besides the Sheep-coates of our Swains.
Page 4
Thou love art like those generous Steeds
Which Pharo for his Chariot breeds,
Trickt in their rich Caparisons.
How shine thy Cheeks with sparkling Stones,
Which loosely dangle from thine eares!
Thy Neck the Oceans Treasure weares.
I will a golden Zone impart,
Enameled with curious Art.
SPONSA.
WHile he the Prince of Bountie feasts,
And entertains his happie Guests;
My Spiknard shall perfume his haire,
Whose Odor fils the ambient aire.
All Night his sacred Head shall rest
Between the Pillows of my Brest.
Not Myrrh, new bleeding from the tree,
So acceptable is to me:
Page 5
Nor Camphire Clusters when they blow,
Which in Engedies Vineyard grow.
SPONSUS.
Thy Beautie, Love, allures my sight,
And Sheds a Firmament of Light.
In either Eye there sits a Dove;
So mild, so full of Artlesse Love!
SPONSA.
Thou, my Belov'd art fairer far;
Thou as the Sun, I but a Star.
Come, my Delight, our pregnant Bed
Is with green buds and violets spred:
Our Cedar Roofs are richly gilt,
Our Galleryes of Cyprus built.