Song of Songs 8:1
O that I might fynde the without & kysse ye, whom I loue as my brother which suckte my mothers brestes: & that thou woldest not be offended,
O that I might fynde the without & kysse ye, whom I loue as my brother which suckte my mothers brestes: & that thou woldest not be offended,
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2 yf I toke the and brought the in to my mothers house: that thou mightest teach me, and that I might geue the drynke of spyced wyne and of the swete sappe of my pomgranates.
3 His left hande lyeth vnder my heade, & his right hande embraceth me.
4 I charge you (o ye daughters of Ierusale) that ye wake not vp my loue ner touch her, tyll she be content herself.
5 What is she this, that cometh vp from the wildernes, and leaneth vpon hir loue? I am the same that waked the vp amonge the aple trees, where thy mother beare ye, where yi mother brought the in to the worlde.
1 By night in my bedd, I sought him, whom my soule loueth: yee diligently sought I him, but I founde him not.
2 I wil get vp (thought I) and go aboute the cite: vpon the market and in all ye stretes will I seke him whom my soule loueth, but whan I sought him, I founde him not.
3 The watchmen that go aboute ye cite, founde me. Sawe ye not him, whom my soule loueth?
4 So whan I was a litle past them, I foude him whom my soule loueth. I haue gotten holde vpon him, and wyl not let him go, vntill I brynge him into my mothers house, and in to hir chambre that bare me.
8 When oure loue is tolde oure yonge sister, whose brestes are not yet growne, what shal we do vnto her?
7 Tell 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,
8 Yf 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.
9 There wil I tary for the (my loue) wt myne hoost & with my charettes, which shalbe no fewer then Pharaos.
2 O that thy mouth wolde geue me a kysse, for yi brestes are more pleasaunt then wyne,
19 Louynge is the hynde, and frendly is the Roo: let her brestes alwaye satisfie the, and holde the euer content with hir loue.
20 My sonne, why wilt thou haue pleasure in an harlot, and embrace the bosome of another woma?
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.
3 For when I myself was my fathers deare sonne, and tenderly beloued of my mother,
13 she caught ye yoge ma, kyssed him & was not ashamed, sayege:
10 Yf I be a wall, & my brestes like towres, then am I as one that hath founde fauoure in his sight.
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.
6 O how fayre and louely art thou (my derlynge) in pleasures?
7 Thy stature is like a date tre, and thy brestes like the grapes. I sayde:
8 I wil clymme vp into the date tre, and take holde of his braunches. Thy brestes also shalbe as the vyne grapes, the smell of thy nostrels like the smell of apples,
9 and thy throte like the best wyne. This shalbe pure & cleare for my loue, his lippes and teth shal haue their pleasure.
10 There wil I turne me vnto my loue, and he shal turne him vnto me.
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.
1 Whither is thy loue gone the (o thou fayrest amonge weme) whither is thy loue departed, that we maye seke him with the?
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?
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.
13 for a bodell of Myrre (o my beloued) lyeth betwixte my brestes.
14 A cluster of grapes of Cypers, or of the vynyardes of Engaddi, art thou vnto me, O my beloued.
4 yee 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.
12 Why set they me vpo yeir knees? Why gaue they me suck with their brestes?
3 Thy two brestes are like two twyns of yonge roes:
14 O get the awaye (my loue) as a roo or a yonge hert vnto the swete smellinge moutaynes.
12 In the mornynge wil we ryse by tymes, and go se the vynyarde: yf it be spronge forth, yf the grapes be growne, & yf the pomgranates be shott out. There wil I geue the my brestes:
3 Like as the aple tre amonge the trees of the wodd, so is my beloued amonge the sonnes. My delite is to sitt vnder his shadowe, for his frute is swete vnto my throte.
4 Saye vnto wysdome: thou art my sister, and call vnderstondinge thy kynswoman:
6 His left hade lyeth vnder my heade, & his right hande enbraceth me.
18 (for mercy grewe vp with me fro my youth, & compassion fro my mothers wombe.)
11 For ye shal sucke coforte out of hir brestes, and be satisfied. Ye shal taist, and haue delite in the plenteousnesse of hir power.
27 Hath my hert medled priuely wt eny disceate? Or, dyd I euer kysse myne owne honde
9 But thou art he that toke me out of my mothers wobe: thou wast my hope, when I hanged yet vpon my mothers brestes.
2 As for youre mother, ye shal chyde with her, and reproue her: for she is not my wife, nether am I hir hu?bode: vnlesse she put awaye hir whordome out of my sight, and hir aduoutry from hir brestes.