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THE

FIFTH BOOK.

I.

CANTICLES V. 8.

I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my beloved, that you tell him that I am sick of love.

1..

YOU holy virgins, that so oft surround

Y

The city's sapphire walls; whose snowy feet Measure the pearly paths of sacred ground,

And trace the new Jerus'lem's jasper street; Ah! you whose care-forsaken hearts are crown'd With your best wishes; that enjoy the sweet Of all your hopes; if e'er you chance to spy My absent love, O tell him that I lie Deep-wounded with the flames that furnac'd from his eye.

2.

I charge you, virgins, as you hope to hear
The heav'nly music of your Lover's voice;
I charge you, by the solemn faith you bear
To plighted vows, and to that loyal choice
Of your affections, or, if aught more dear
You hold; by Hymen, by your marriage joys;
I charge you, tell him, that a flaming dart,
Shot from his eye, hath pierc'd my bleeding heart,
And I am sick of love, and languish in my smart.

Tell

3.

Tell him, O tell him, how my panting breast

Is scorch'd with flames, and how my soul is pin'd; Tell him, O tell him, how I lie opprest

With the full torment of a troubled mind;
O tell him, tell him, that he loves in jest,
But I in earnest; tell him he's unkind:
But if a discontented frown appears
Upon his angry brow, accost his ears
With soft and fewer words, and act the rest in tears.

4.

O tell him, that his cruelties deprive

My soul of peace, while peace in vain she seeks; Tell him, those damask roses that did strive

With white, both fade upon my sallow cheeks; Tell him, no token doth proclaim i live,

But tears, and sighs, and sobs, and sudden shrieks; Thus if your piercing words should chance to bore His heark'ning ear, and move a sigh, give o'er To speak; and tell him, tell him, that I could no more.

5.

If your elegious* breath should hap' to rouse
A happy tear, close harb'ring in his eye,
Then urge his plighted faith, the sacred vows,
Which neither I can break, nor he deny ;
Bewail the torment of his loyal spouse,
That for his sake would make a sport to die :
O blessed virgins, how my passion tires
Beneath the burden of her fond desires!
Heav'n never shot such flames, earth never felt such fires!

Elegious; i. e. plaintive, or complaining.

S. AU

S. AUGUST. Med. Cap. xl.

What shall I say ? what shall I do? whither shall I go? where shall I seek him? or when shall I find him? whom shall I ask? who will tell my Beloved, that I am sick of love?

GULIEL. in Cap. v. Cant.

I live, but not I: it is my Beloved that liveth in me : I love myself, not with my own love, but with the love of my Beloved that loveth me: I love not myself in myself, but myself in him, and him in me.

EPIG. 1.

Grieve not my soul, nor let thy love wax faint:
Weep'st thou to lose the cause of thy complaint?
He'll come; love ne'er was bound to times nor laws:
Till then, thy tears complain without a cause.