I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, That ye tell him, that I am sick of love.
I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes, and by the hinds of the field, That ye stir not up, nor awaken love, until it please.
Stay ye me with raisins, comfort me with apples: For I am sick of love.
I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes, and by the hinds of the field, That ye stir not up, nor awaken love, Until it please.
Confess therefore your sins one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The supplication of a righteous man availeth much in its working.
Now I beseech you, brethren, by our Lord Jesus Christ, and by the love of the Spirit, that ye strive together with me in your prayers to God for me;
I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, That ye stir not up, nor awaken love, Until it please.
I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, As the tents of Kedar, As the curtains of Solomon.