— — You beauteous dames, if that my love you see,
With eager steps conduct him here to me,
Tell him no joy to me you can impart,
And that no pain is like a bleeding heart.
Say I am sick of love, and moaning lie,
Whilst the sad echo to my groans reply,
— — Who is thy love? the scornful maids reply,
And for what form waste you your bloom in sighs?
Let's know the man, if he be worth your care,
Or does deserve the tender love you bear.
— — Whilst your request with pleasure I obey,
Your strict attention give to what I say.
My love excels all that's on earth call'd fair,
As the bright sun excels the meanest star.
His head is wisdom's spacious theatre,
Riches of grace and beauty there appear.
A down his shoulders with becoming pride
Falls fine hair in beauteous ringlets tied.
His sparkling eyes in splendent luster vie
With the twin stars that grace the azure sky.
His cheeks excel the fragrant blushing rose
Which in the fruitful vale of Sharon grows.
His lips like lilies in their flow'ry bloom
Yield a sweet odor and a rich perfume.
His ivory arms more charming to behold
Than orient pearls, encas'd in shining gold.
His well turn'd legs like stately pillars stand
Of marble, polish'd by a curious hand.
His mien is noble and august his air,
His countenance as Lebanon does appear.