Why did the knees take me, or why the breasts that they might give me milk?

Have you not poured me out as milk, and curdled me like cheese?

They sojourning in my house and my maids, mill reckon me for a stranger: I was a foreigner in their eyes.

Let him not see in the channels the flowings of torrents of honey and milk.

His breasts are full of milk, and his bones are moistened with marrow.

when my paths were washed in sour milk, and [the] rock poured out streams of oil for me.