Song of Songs 4

Coverdale(i) 1 O how fayre art thou (my loue) how fayre art thou? thou hast doues eyes besyde that which lyeth hid within. 2 Thy hayrie lockes are like a flocke of shepe that be clypped, which go first vp from the washinge place: where euery one beareth two twyns, and not one vnfrutefull amoge them. 3 Thy lippes are like a rose coloured rybende, thy wordes are louely: thy chekes are like a pece of a pomgranate, besydes that which lyed hyd within. 4 Thy neck is like the tower of Dauid buylded with bulworkes, wher vpon there hage a thousande sheldes, yee all the weapes of the giautes. 5 Thy two brestes are like two twyns of yonge roes, which fede amoge the lilies. 6 O that I might go to the mountayne of Myrre, and to the hyll of frankynsense: till the daye breake, and till the shadowes be past awaye. 7 Thou art all fayre (o my loue) & no spott is there in the. 8 Come to me from Libanus (o my spouse) come to me from Libanus: come soone the next waye from the toppe of Amana, from the toppe of Sanir and Hermon, from the Lyons dennes and from the mountaynes of ye leopardes. 9 Thou hast wouded my hert (o my sister, my spouse) thou hast wounded my hert, with one of thine eyes, and with one cheyne of thy neck. 10 O how fayre and louely are thy brestes, my sister, my spouse? Thy brestes are more pleasaunt then wyne, and the smell of thy oyntmentes passeth all spices. 11 Thy lippes (o my spouse) droppe as the hony combe, yee mylck and hony is vnder thy tonge, and the smell of thy garmentes is like the smell of frankynsense. 12 Thou art a well kepte garden (o my sister, my spouse) thou art a well kepte water sprynge, a sealed well. 13 The frutes that sproute in the, are like a very paradyse of pogranates wt swete frutes: 14 as Cypresse, Nardus, Saffron, Calmus, and all the trees of Libanus: Myrre, Aloes, and all the best spyces. 15 Thou art a well of gardens, a well of lyuynge waters, which renne downe from Libanus. 16 Vp thou northwynde, come thou southwynde, and blowe vpo my garde, that the smell therof maye be caried on euery syde: Yee that my beloued maye come in to my garden, & eate of the frutes and apples that growe therin.