I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the Roes and hinds of the field, that ye wake not up my love nor touch her, till she be content herself.

The fig tree hath brought forth her figs, and the vine blossoms give a savour.

So when I was a little past them, I found him whom my soul loveth. I have gotten hold upon him, and will not let him go, until I bring him into my mother's house, and in to her chamber that bare me.

I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the Roes, and Hinds of the field, that ye wake not up my love nor touch her, till she be content herself.

But one is my dove, my darling. She is the only beloved of her mother, and dear unto her that bare her. When the daughters saw her, they said, she was blessed: Yea the Queens and concubines praised her.

I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, that ye wake not up my love, nor touch her, till she be content herself. What is she, this that cometh up from the wilderness, and leaneth upon her love?

O set me as a seal upon thine heart, and as a seal upon thine arm: for love is mighty as the death, and jealousy as the hell. Her coals are of fire, and a very flame of the LORD:

If she be a wall, we shall build a silver bulwark thereupon: if she be an open door, we shall fasten her with boards of Cedar tree.