The Bride Confesses Her Love 1Salomons Balettes, called Cantica Canticorum. 2O that thy mouth wolde geue me a kysse, for yi brestes are more pleasaunt then wyne, 3& that because of the good and pleasaunt sauoure. Thy name is a swete smellynge oyntment, therfore do the maydens loue the: 4yee that same moueth me also to renne after the. The kynge hath brought me into his preuy chambre. We wil be glad & reioyce in the, we thynke more of thy brestes then of wyne: well is them that loue the. 5I am black (o ye doughters of Ierusale) like as the tentes of the Cedarenes, and as the hanginges of Salomon: 6but yet am I faire & welfauoured withal. Maruell not at me yt I am so black, & why? ye Sonne hath shyned vpo me. For whan my mothers childre had euell wil at me, they made me ye keper of the vynyarde. Thus was I fayne to kepe a vynyarde, which was not myne owne. 7Tell me (o thou whom my soule loueth) where thou fedest, where thou restest at the noone daye: lest I go wronge, and come vnto the flockes of thy companyons, 8Yf thou knowe not yi self (o thou fayrest amoge women) tha go yi waye forth after ye fotesteppes of the shepe, as though thou woldest fede yi goates besyde ye shepherdes tentes. 9There wil I tary for the (my loue) wt myne hoost & with my charettes, which shalbe no fewer then Pharaos. 10Then shal thy chekes & thy neck be made fayre, & hanged wt spages & goodly iewels: 11a neck bande of golde wil we make ye wt syluer bottons. 12When the kynge sytteth at the table, he shal smell my Nardus: 13for a bodell of Myrre (o my beloued) lyeth betwixte my brestes. 14A cluster of grapes of Cypers, or of the vynyardes of Engaddi, art thou vnto me, O my beloued. 15O how fayre art thou (my loue) how fayre art thou? thou hast doues eyes. 16O how fayre art thou (my beloued) how well fauored art thou? Oure bed is decte with floures, 17ye sylinges of oure house are of Cedre tre, & oure balkes of Cypresse. |
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