Song of Solomon 4
1 Look, you are beautiful, my love. Look, you are beautiful. Your eyes are doves behind your veil. Your hair is as a flock of goats, that descend from Mount Gilead.
Mi frendesse, thou art ful fair; thin iyen ben of culueris, with outen that that is hid with ynne; thin heeris ben as the flockis of geete, that stieden fro the hil of Galaad.
2 Your teeth are like a newly shorn flock, which have come up from the washing, where every one of them has twins. None is bereaved among them.
Thi teeth ben as the flockis of clippid sheep, that stieden fro waischyng; alle ben with double lambren, and no bareyn is among tho.
3 Your lips are like scarlet thread. Your mouth is lovely. Your temples are like a piece of a pomegranate behind your veil.
Thi lippis ben as a reed lace, and thi speche is swete; as the relif of an appil of Punyk, so ben thi chekis, with outen that, that is hid with ynne.
4 Your neck is like David's tower built for an armory, whereon a thousand shields hang, all the shields of the mighty men.
Thi necke is as the tour of Dauid, which is bildid with strengthis maad bifore for defense; a thousynde scheldis hangen on it, al armure of stronge men.
5 Your two breasts are like two fawns that are twins of a gazelle, which feed among the lilies.
Thi twei tetis ben as twey kidis, twynnes of a capret, that ben fed in lilies,
6 Until the day is cool, and the shadows flee away, I will go to the mountain of myrrh, to the hill of frankincense.
til the dai sprynge, and shadewis ben bowid doun. Y schal go to the mounteyn of myrre, and to the litil hil of encense.
7 You are all beautiful, my love. There is no spot in you.
My frendesse, thou art al faire, and no wem is in thee.
8 Come with me from Lebanon, my bride, with me from Lebanon. Look from the top of Amana, from the top of Senir and Hermon, from the lions' dens, from the mountains of the leopards.
My spousesse, come thou fro the Liban; come thou fro the Liban, come thou; thou schalt be corowned fro the heed of Amana, fro the cop of Sanyr and Hermon, fro the dennys of liouns, fro the hillis of pardis.
9 You have ravished my heart, my sister, my bride. You have ravished my heart with one of your eyes, with one chain of your neck.
My sister spousesse, thou hast woundid myn herte; thou hast woundid myn herte, in oon of thin iyen, and in oon heer of thi necke.
10 How beautiful is your love, my sister, my bride. How much better is your love than wine. The fragrance of your perfumes than all manner of spices.
My sistir spousesse, thi tetis ben ful faire; thi tetis ben feirere than wyn, and the odour of thi clothis is aboue alle swete smellynge oynementis.
11 Your lips, my bride, drip like the honeycomb. Honey and milk are under your tongue. The smell of your garments is like the smell of Lebanon.
Spousesse, thi lippis ben an hony coomb droppynge; hony and mylk ben vndur thi tunge, and the odour of thi clothis is as the odour of encence.
12 A locked up garden is my sister, my bride; a locked up spring, a sealed fountain.
Mi sister spousesse, a gardyn closid togidere; a gardyn closid togidere, a welle aseelid.
13 Your shoots are an orchard of pomegranates, with precious fruits: henna with spikenard plants,
Thi sendingis out ben paradis of applis of Punyk, with the fruytis of applis, cipre trees, with narde;
14 spikenard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon, with every kind of incense tree; myrrh and aloes, with all the best spices,
narde, and saffrun, an erbe clepid fistula, and canel, with alle trees of the Liban, myrre, and aloes, with alle the beste oynementis.
15 a fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, flowing streams from Lebanon.
A welle of gardyns, a pit of wallynge watris, that flowen with fersnesse fro the Liban.
16 Awake, north wind; and come, you south. Blow on my garden, that its spices may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and taste his precious fruits.
Rise thou north wynd, and come thou, south wynd; blowe thou thorouy my gardyn, and the swete smellynge oynementis therof schulen flete.
