I am black, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, like as the tents of the Kedarenes, and as the hangings of Solomon: but yet am I fair and well favored withal.

Marvel not at me that I am so black: For why? The sun hath shined upon me. My mother's children had evil will at me, they made me the keeper of the vineyards; but mine own vineyard have I not kept.

O how fair art thou, my beloved, how well favored art thou? Our bed is decked with flowers,

By night in my bed I sought him, whom my soul loveth: yea, diligently sought I him, but I found him not.

I will get up, thought I, and go about the city, in the ways and in all the streets will I seek him whom my soul loveth: but when I sought him, I found him not.

I have put off my coat: how can I do it on again? I have washed my feet, how shall I defile them again?

But when my love put in his hand at the hole, my heart was moved within me:

Nevertheless when I had opened unto my beloved, he was departed and gone his way. Now like as afore time when he spake, my heart could not longer refrain: Even so now I sought him, but I could not find him: I cried upon him, nevertheless he gave me no answer.

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.

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.

Our sister is but young, and hath no breasts: what shall we do for our sister when she shall be spoken for?

But my vineyard, O Solomon, giveth thee a thousand, and two hundred to the keepers of the fruit.