I am black, but comely, daughters of Jerusalem, As the tents of Kedar, As the curtains of Solomon.

I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem, By the gazelles, or by the hinds of the field, That ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.

I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem, By the gazelles, or by the hinds of the field, That ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.

Its pillars he made of silver, Its support of gold, Its seat of purple; The midst thereof was paved with love By the daughters of Jerusalem.

I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem, If ye find my beloved, ... What will ye tell him? That I am sick of love.

His mouth is most sweet: Yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, yea, this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.

Thou art fair, my love, as Tirzah, Comely as Jerusalem, Terrible as troops with banners:

I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem, ... Why should ye stir up, why awake my love, till he please?