For thy love is more pleasant than wine,

Draw thou me unto thee; we will run after thee. The king hath brought me into his privy chamber: We will be glad and rejoice in thee, we think more of thy love than of wine. They that be righteous love thee.

for a bundle of Myrrh is my love unto me; he will lie betwixt my breasts.

Who is this, that cometh up out of the wilderness like pillars of smoke, as it were a smell of Myrrh, frankincense and all manner spices of the Apothecary?

O that I might go to the mountain of Myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense, till the day break, and till the shadows be past away.

O how fair are thy breasts, my sister, my spouse? Thy breasts are more pleasant than wine, and the smell of thine ointments passeth all spices.

as Cypress, Nardus, Saffron, Calamus, and all the trees of Lebanon: Myrrh, Aloes, and all the best spices.

Come into my garden O my sister, my Spouse: I have gathered my Myrrh with my spice. I will eat my honey and my honeycomb, I will drink my wine and my milk. Eat, O ye friends, drink and be merry, O ye beloved.

so that I stood up to open unto my beloved. My hands dropped with Myrrh, and the Myrrh ran down my fingers upon the lock.

Who is thy love above other lovers, O thou fairest among women? Or what can thy love do, more than other lovers, that thou chargest us so straightly?

His cheeks are like a garden bed, wherein the Apothecaries plant all manner of sweet things; His lips are like roses that drop sweet smelling Myrrh.

Turn again, turn again, O thou Shulamite; turn again, turn again, that we may look upon thee. What pleasure have ye more in the Shulamite, than when she danceth among the men of war?