Song of Songs 5 Come in to my garden o my sister, my spouse: I haue gathered my Myrre wt my spyce. I wil eate my hony and my hony cobe, I wil drynke my wyne & my mylk Eate o (ye frendes) drynke and be mery, o ye beloued.

Coverdale⁽ⁱ⁾ ¹ Come in to my garden o my sister, my spouse: I haue gathered my Myrre wt my spyce. I wil eate my hony and my hony cobe, I wil drynke my wyne & my mylk Eate o (ye frendes) drynke and be mery, o ye beloued. ² As I was a slepe, & my hert wakynge, I herde the voyce of my beloued, wha he knocked. Open to me (sayde he) o my sister, my loue, my doue, my derlinge: for my heade is full of dew, and ye lockes of my hayre are full of the night droppes. ³ I haue put off my cote, how ca I do it on agayne? I haue washed my fete, how shal I fyle them agayne? ⁴ But whan my loue put in his hande at the hole, my hert was moued towarde him: ⁵ so that I stode vp to open vnto my beloued. My hades dropped wt Myrre, & the Myrre ranne downe my fyngers vpon ye lock. ⁶ Neuerthelesse wha I had opened vnto my beloued, he was departed, and gone his waye. Now like as afore tyme whan he spake, my hert coude no longer refrayne: Euen so now I sought hi, but I coude not fynde him: I cried vpon him, neuerthelesse he gaue me no answere. ⁷ So the watchmen that wente aboute the cite, foude me, smote me, and wounded me: Yee they that kepte the walles, toke awaye my garmet fro me. ⁸ I charge you therfore (o ye doughters of Ierusalem) yf ye fynde my beloued, that ye tell him, how that I am sick for loue. ⁹ Who is thy loue aboue other louers, O thou fayrest amonge wemen? Or, what can thy loue do, more then other louers, that thou chargest vs so straitly? ¹⁰ As for my loue, he is whyte and reade coloured, a synguler personne amonge many thousandes: ¹¹ his heade is the most fyne golde, the lockes of his hayre are bu?shed, browne as the euenynge: ¹² His eyes are as the eyes of doues by the water brokes, washen with mylck, and remaynynge in a plenteous place: ¹³ His chekes are like a garden bedd, where in the Apotecaryes plate all maner of swete thinges: His lippes droppe as the floures of the most pryncipall Myrre, ¹⁴ his hades are full of golde rynges and precious stones. His body is as the pure yuery, decte ouer with Saphyres: ¹⁵ His legges are as the pilers of Marbell, sett vpon sokettes of golde: His face is as Libanus, and as the bewty of the Cedre trees: ¹⁶ His throte is swete, yee he is alltogether louely. Soch one is my loue (o ye doughters of Ierusalem) soch one is my loue.