XLVI
The Younglynges To The Spouse.

Of women fayrest thou,
Because thou doest excell
In fayth, all other foke
That haue receyued the yoke
Of the gospell:

For whome thou sekest now,
Hym whome thou louest so well,
Why whither is he gone?
Why left he thee alone?
Tell we praye thee.

Why whither is he goen,
Whome thou doest loue so well,
Howe parted he away?
Shew vs that we eke maye.
Seke hym with thee.

XLVI
The Spouse To The Younglinges.

My Beloued descended doune
In to his fruitful orcharde:
With his good gyftes his Churche to croune,
To kepe styl the same in sauegard.

He is goen to the beddes of spice,
The bokes whiche he is declarde in:
On them to feede whiche exercise
The scriptures, that are his gardin.

To fede hym selfe among his flocke,
It euermore his wyll is:
To plucke the flowers of Abrams stocke,
His clere clothed faythful lilies.

In my Loue I alone delyght,
Whiche maketh me so ioyfull:
And I am louely in his syght,
That feedeth among the faythfull.

XLVII
Christe To His Spouse.

Fvll fayer art thou my frende, And frendely there withall.
For why thy good wyll doeth extende,
To all that on thee call.

Fayer, fayrer than the gem, Thou art, and doest appere,
Lyke the heauenly Ierusalem,
Whiche is to God so dere.

And lyke an armye dight, So dreadful art thou alse:
Whiche with my wurde doest put to flyght,
Al doctrines that be false.

Thou holdest furth my crosse, that bluddy standard strong:
And sayest mennes wurkes therto are mosse,
And doe my death great wrong.

Thy iudgement in my wurd, Is paysed so vpryght,
That in my mynde I am styll sturde
In thee to haue delyght.

Turne backe from me thyne iyes, For they haue made me proude
I mean thyne earnest excercise
In iudgement wel allowed.

Thy heares, that is to saye, thy scripture grounded notes,
In lyuelynes to dure alway,
Are lyke a flocke of Goates.

Are lyke a flocke of goates, from Gileal clypped rounde:
For all thy truthes and scripture notes,
Are in the Byble founde.

Thy teeth, thy reasons strong, that doe so well agre:
Are lyke vnto the flockes of shepe
That scarce can numbred be.

Whiche clean cum vp along, Out from the washyng place.
Thyne argumentes that are so strong
In scripture take theyr grace.

Of whiche eche hath within, The truth and scripture grounde:
Lyke flockes where eche beast hath a twin,
And none is barayn founde.

Lyke to the Pomegarnarde, That cut in twayne, is read:
So all thy wurkes, thy chekes, outwarde
Do shyne, and none are dead.

Besydes thy fyllet fine, My wurkes that can not fayle:
Whiche garnysh al good wurkes of thyne,
Whiche els could not auayle.

XLVIII
Christe To His Spouse.

Accordyng to the rates, of gyftes of godly grace.
Within my church there are estates, wherof no one is base.
Of whiche threscore are Quenes, that haue got perfectnes,
And there be fowerscore concubines, with damsels numbreles.
But al the rest aboue, in one doe I delyght,
One through my loue is made my doue, and perfect in my syght.
One is the chyef elect, vnto her mother dere,
To all that are of Abrams sect, who truly dyd her bear.
The daughters of Sion, those faythfull dyd her see,
And preached frankly euery one that most blessed was she.
The Quenes dyd prayse her eke, and shal so doe alwayes,
The Concubines also dyd speake, of her, excedyng prayse.

XLIX
Christe To His Spouse.

VVhat one is she so lyke the morow bryght,
Whiche yet doeth lacke the fulnes of my lyght,
Whiche she hereafter shall receyue
In glory?

Who lyke the Moone is pleasaunt to the syght,
My Moone I meane, my truth that shynes by nyght.
Whiche doeth of me her lyght receyue,
In glory?

Yea what is she so lyke the Sunne elect:
Lyke me the Sunne, chief of the chosen sect,
Whiche shyne aboue with my father,
In glory?

Yea what is she so dreadfull to beholde,
Whiche on my wurd doeth bear her selfe so bolde,
Styll standyng styffe lyke a banner,
In glory?

L
Christe To Hys Spouse.

To my Nutgardayn free,
Whom tribulacions hyde:
I am cum the saplynges for to see,
Whiche grow by the ryuers syde.

To see yf that the vine,
The fayth that I thynke so good,
With the wurkes and fruites of loue diuine,
Begyn thorowly to bud.

To see yf that the plantes,
Of fine Pomegranates yelde:
Pleasaunt fruites, whiche euery tree that wantes
Shall be cast furth from my fyelde.

LI
The Spouse To Her Beloued.

I knew not I, Thou wast so ny,
Tyll by thy wurd so swete,
Thou madest me know, Thou wast cum low,
And louely dydst me grete.

I was I graunt, Blynde ignoraunt.
And knew nothing at all:
Through flesh or blood, That coulde doe good,
Before thou didst me call.

Thy wurd awaye, My wyt I saye
Knewe no whyt of thy wyll:
I knew not why, Thou camest so nye,
With frute thy self refyll.

But whan thy voyce (That doeth reioyce
All faythful that it hear)
Sounded so shrill, I knew thy wyll,
And what thou madest there.

LII
The Spouse To The Younlinges.

Fear not ye young though heauy be your yoke,
Your yoke of sinne that causeth you to feare:
For Christe my soule, whiche lately to me spoke,
Wyll that I healpe the burdens byg to beare,
Of Aminadif.

Aminadif, my wyllyng people be,
Suche as gladly Gods wurd both doe and heare:
Whose wheles to draw my soule appoynted me:
Christ wyll I shall the burdens help to bear
Of Aminadif.

LIII
The Younglynges To The Spouse.

Payne not thyselfe so sore, Our burdens byg to bear.
But that as we haue doen before, We may thy prechig hear:
Cum agayne cum agayne,
Returne thou perfect one, Thou plentifull in peace,
That we may se thy gyfts eche one: For our faynt faythes encrece
Cum agayne, cum agayne.

LIV
Christe To The Younglynges.

Ye young that call agayne, My spouse, my chyef delite,
What is the cause that ye so fayne
Would see the Sulamite?

In her what would ye see, What thyng would ye behold?
She is not as ye thynke she bee
Gaye clad in sylke and golde.

But simple to the syght in her are pitched tentes,
With souldiers full armed to fyght
Agaynst all false intentes.

If this syght maye ye please, whiche pleaseth me alone,
Ye maye beholde her at your ease,
And vewe her gyftes eche one.

Here endeth the syxte Chapter.