Sustain me with grape-cakes, Support me with citrons, for I am sick with love.

The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

This thy stature is like to a palm-tree, And thy breasts to grape clusters.

Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth: there will I give thee my loves.