I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.
I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, until he please.
And thou, O tower of the flock, the stronghold of the daughter of Zion, unto thee shall it come, even the first dominion; the kingdom shall come to the daughter of Jerusalem.
I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon.
My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: behold, he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, showing himself through the lattice.
I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love.
His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me.