SHEDo not look on me, because, I, am so swarthy, because the sun hath scorched me, - My mother's sons, were angry with me, they set me to keep the vineyards, Mine own vineyard, have I not kept. --

My beloved, thrust in his hand, at the window, and, my feelings, were deeply moved for him:

The watchmen who were going round in the city, found me, they smote me, wounded me, - The watchmen of the walls, took away my cloak from off me.

THEYReturn, return, O Shulamite, Return, return, that we may look on thee! SHEWhat would ye look on in the Shulamite? THEYAs it were the dance of a double camp --