Who’s this, that leaning on her friend

Who's this, that leaning on her Friend
Doth from the Wildernesse ascend?
Minde how I raised thee
Ev'n where thy Mother thee conciev'd
(Where she that brought thee forth concievd,)
Beneath an Appletree

Me in thy hart, engraven beare
And Sealelike on thy handwrist weare:
For, Love is strong as Death;
Fierce as the Grave is Jealousie:
The coales thereof doe burning lye;
And furious flames it hath

If that a wall she doe appeare
We Turrets upon her will reare
And Pallaces of plate;
And then with boords of Cedarthee Enclose
And fence her in will we
If that she be a Gate

A wall already built I am;
And now my Breasts upon the same
Do Turretlike, arise:
Since when, as one that findeth rest
(And is of setled peace possest)
I seemed in his eyes

Thou, whose abode the Gardens are
(Thy Fellowes unto thee give eare)
Cause me to heare thy voyce;
And let my Love as swiftly goe
As doth a Hart or nimble Roe
Upon the Hills of Spice