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

What is thy beloved more than another beloved, Thou fairest among women? What is thy beloved more than another beloved, That thou dost so charge us?

Return, return, O Shulamite; Return, return, that we may look upon thee. What would ye look upon in the Shulamite? As it were the dance of two camps.

We have a little sister, And she hath no breasts: What shall we do for our sister In the day when she shall be spoken for? --