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 am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, As the tents of Kedar, As the curtains of Solomon.
His left hand is under my head, And his right hand doth embrace me.
My beloved is like a roe Or a young hart: Behold, he standeth Behind our wall, He looketh forth at the windows, Shewing 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.
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 strong hold of the daughter of Zion, unto thee shall it come, even the first dominion; the kingdom shall come to the daughter of Jerusalem.