That sucked the breasts of my mother!

When I should find thee without, I would kiss thee;

Yea, and none would despise me.

Who would instruct me;

I would cause thee to drink of spiced wine,

Of the juice of my pomegranate.

And his right hand should embrace me.

That ye stir not up, nor awake my love,

Until he please.

Leaning upon her beloved?

Under the apple-tree I awakened thee:

There thy mother was in travail with thee,

There was she in travail that brought thee forth.

As a seal upon thine arm:

For love is strong as death;

Jealousy is cruel as Sheol;

The flashes thereof are flashes of fire,

A very flame of Jehovah.

Neither can floods drown it:

If a man would give all the substance of his house for love,

He would utterly be contemned.

And she hath no breasts:

What shall we do for our sister

In the day when she shall be spoken for?

We will build upon her a turret of silver:

And if she be a door,

We will inclose her with boards of cedar.

Then was I in his eyes as one that found peace.

He let out the vineyard unto keepers;

Every one for the fruit thereof was to bring a thousand pieces of silver.

Thou, O Solomon, shalt have the thousand,

And those that keep the fruit thereof two hundred.

The companions hearken for thy voice:

Cause me to hear it.

And be thou like to a roe or to a young hart

Upon the mountains of spices.