Song of Songs 7

Coverdale(i) 1 O how pleasaunt are thy treadinges with thy shues, thou prynces daughter? Thy thees are like a fayre iewell, which is wrought by a connynge workmaster: 2 Thy nauell is like a rounde goblett, which is neuer without drynke: Thy wombe is like an heape of wheate, sett aboute with lilies: 3 Thy two brestes are like two twyns of yonge roes: 4 Thy neck is as it were a tower of yuery: Thyne eyes are like ye water poles in Hesebon, besyde the porte of Bathrabbim: Thy nose is like the tower of Libanus, which loketh towarde Damascus: 5 That heade that stondeth vpon the is like Carmel: The hayre of thy heade is like the kynges purple folden vp in plates. 6 O how fayre and louely art thou (my derlynge) in pleasures? 7 Thy stature is like a date tre, and thy brestes like the grapes. I sayde: 8 I wil clymme vp into the date tre, and take holde of his braunches. Thy brestes also shalbe as the vyne grapes, the smell of thy nostrels like the smell of apples, 9 and thy throte like the best wyne. This shalbe pure & cleare for my loue, his lippes and teth shal haue their pleasure. 10 There wil I turne me vnto my loue, and he shal turne him vnto me. 11 O come on my loue, let vs go forth in to the felde, and take oure lodginge in the vyllages. 12 In the mornynge wil we ryse by tymes, and go se the vynyarde: yf it be spronge forth, yf the grapes be growne, & yf the pomgranates be shott out. There wil I geue the my brestes: 13 There shal the Mandragoras geue their smell besyde oure dores: There (o my loue) haue I kepte vnto the all maner of frutes, both new and olde.