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.
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.
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.
My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: Behold, he standeth behind our wall, He looketh in at the windows, He sheweth himself through the lattice.
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, That ye stir not up, nor awaken love, Until it please.
And thou, O tower of the flock, the hill of the daughter of Zion, unto thee shall it come; yea, the former dominion shall come, the kingdom of the daughter of Jerusalem.