Cant. V.
SPONSUS.
MY Spouse, my Sister, thou who art
The Ioy and Treasure of my heart:
I to my Garden have retir'd,
Reapt spices which perfumes expir'd;
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 18
Sweet Gums from trees profusely shed,
On dropping Combs of Honey fed;
Drunk Morning Milk, with new prest Wine:
O Friends, whom like desires combine;
Eate, drink, drink freely: nor remove
Till you be all inflam'd with Love.
SPONSA.
Although I sleep my Passions wake,
For he who knockt, thus sadly spake:
My Love, my Sister, thou more mild
Then gallesse Doves, my undefil'd,
O let me enter! Night hath shed
Her Dew on my uncovered Head;
Which from my drenched Locks distils,
And with a frozen numnesse chils.
Can I assent to thy request,
Disrob'd and newly laid to rest?
Page 19
Shall I now cloath my self again?
And feet so lately washt, distain?
But when I had his hand discern'd,
Drawn from the latch, my bowels yern'd.
I rose, no longer could defer
To unlock the Door; when liquid Myrrh,
Thence dropping, on my finger fell,
And breath'd an odoriferous smell.
But ah, when opened he was gone:
His grief fetcht from my heart a groane.
In vain I sought my Souls Belov'd;
I call'd him, ô too far remov'd!
The Watch and those who walk the Round,
In this pursuit the Afflicted found:
Smot, wounded, and prophanely tore
The Sable Veile my Sorrow wore.
You Virgins of faire Solyma,
I charge you, if you meet him, say,
Page 20
That I his Spouse am sick for Love,
And with your teares soft pitty move.
CHORUS.
O thou of all our Sex most faire,
Can none with thy belov'd compare!
Doth he so much our Loves transcend
That we alone should him intend!
SPONSA.
Lo! in his face the blushing Rose,
Ioyn'd with the Virgin Lilly, grows:
Among a Myriad he appears
The Chief, and Beauties Ensign bears.
His head adorn'd with burnisht gold,
Which Curls of shining haire infold,
Black as the newly pruned Crow:
His Eyes like Doves by Fountains show,
Late bathed in a Rivolet
Of Milk, alike exactly set:
Page 21
His Cheeks, sweet Spice, and flowres confer,
His Lips, like Roses dropping Myrrh.
His Hand, the wondering Eye invites,
Like Rings that blaze with Chrysolites:
His Belly, pollisht Ivory,
Where Saphires in blew branches lie:
His Legs, like Marble pillars, plac'd
On Bases with pure gold inchac'd:
His Looks, like Cedars planted on
The Brows of loftie Lebanon:
His Tongue, the Eare with Musick feeds:
And he in every part exceeds.
You Daughters of Ierusalem,
Such is my Friend, my praises Theam.