Song of Songs 4

Great(i) 1 O How fayre art thou, my loue, howe fayre art thou? thou hast doues eyes, besyde that which lyeth hyd within. 2 Thy hearye lockes are like the woll of a flocke of gotes that be shorne vpon mount Gilead: Thy teth are like shepe of the same bignesse, which went vp from the washinge place: where euery one beareth two twyns, and not one vnfrutefull amonge them. 3 Thy lippes are like a rose coloured rybonde, thy wordes are louely, thy chekes are like a pece of a pomgranat within thyne heares. 4 Thy neck is lyke the tower of Dauid builded with costly stones lyinge out on the sides wher vpon there hang a thousande shyldes, yee all the weapens of the geauntes. 5 Thy two brestes are lyke two twyns of younge roes, which fede amonge roses. 6 O that I myght go to the mountayne of Myrre, & to the hyll of franckencense: tyll the daye breake & tyll 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 loke from the toppe of Amana, from the toppe of Sanir & Hermon, from the lyons dennes and from the mountaynes of the leopardes. 9 Thou hast with loue bewitched my hert, O my syster, my spouse, thou hast be witched my herte, with one of thyne eyes, and wt one cheyne of thy neck. 10 O howe fayre are thy brestes, my syster, my spouse? Thy brestes are more pleasaunt then wyne, and the smel of thyne oyntmentes passeth all spyces. 11 Thy lippes, O my spouse, droppe as the hony combe, yee mylcke and hony is vnder thy tong, and the smell of thy garmentes is lyke the smell of Libanus. 12 A garden well locked is my syster, my spouse, a garden well locked, and a sealed well. 13 The frutes that are planted in the, are lyke a very Paradyse of pomgranates with swete frutes: 14 as Camphore, Nardus, and Saffron, Calamus, & Synamom with all swete smellynge trees: Myrre. Aloes and all the best spyces: 15 a well of gardens, a well of lyuinge waters, which renne downe from Libanus. 16 Up thou north wynde, come thou south wynde, and blowe vpon my garden, that the smell therof maybe caryed on euery syde: yee that my beloued maye come into hys garden, & eate of the swete frutes that growe therin.