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Edward Farr, ed. Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth. 1845.

The Most Excellent Song, Which Was Salomon’s

X. Michael Drayton

Wherein Is Declared the True and Vnfained Loue betweene Christ and His Church, Containing VIII. Chapters.

The Fift Chapter.

WITHIN my garden plot,

Loe, I am present now!

I gathered haue the myrrhe and spice

That in aboundance growe.

With honey, milke, and wine,

I haue refresht me here:

Eat, drink, my friends, be mery there,

With harty friendly cheare.

Although in slumbering sleepe

It seemes to you I lay,

Yet heare I my beloued knock,

Methinkes I heare him say:

Open to me the gate,

My loue, my heart’s delight,

For, loe, my locks are all bedewed

With drizling drops of night.

My garments are put off,

Then may I not doo so;

Shal I defile my feet I washt

So white as any snow?

Then fast euen by the dore

To me he shew’d his hand:

My heart was then enamoured,

When as I saw him stand.

Then straightwaies vp I rose

To ope the dore with speed;

My handes and fingers dropped myrrhe

Vpon the bar indeede.

Then opened I the dore

Vnto my loue at last;

But all in vain; for why? before

My loue was gone and past.

There sought I for my loue,

Then could I crie and call;

But him I could not find, nor he

Nould answer me at all.

The watchmen found me then,

As thus I walk’d astray;

They wounded me, and from my head

My vaile they took away.

Ye daughters of Ierusalem,

If ye my loue doo see,

Tell him that I am sicke for loue;

Yea, tel him this from me.

Thou peerelesse gem of price,

I pray thee to vs tell,

What is thy loue, what may he be,

That doth so far excell?

In my beloued’s face

The rose and lilly striue;

Among ten thousand men not one

Is found so faire aliue.

His head like finest gold,

With secret sweet perfume;

His curled locks hang all as black

As any rauen’s plume.

His eies be like to doues’

On riuers’ banks below,

Ywasht with milk, whose collours are

Most gallant to the shew.

His cheeks like to a plot

Where spice and flowers growe;

His lips like to the lilly white,

From whence pure myrrh doth flow.

His hands like rings of gold

With costly chrisalet;

His belly like the yuory white,

With seemly saphyrs set.

His legs like pillers strong

Of marble set in gold;

His countenance like Libanon,

Or cedars, to behold.

His mouth it is as sweet,

Yea, sweet as sweet may be:

This is my loue, ye virgins, loe!

Euen such a one is he!

Thou fairest of vs all,

Whether is thy louer gone?

Tell us, and we will goe with thee;

Thou shalt not goe alone.