My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat.
Thou sellest thy people for nought, and dost not increase thy wealth by their price.
Thou makest us a byword among the heathen, a shaking of the head among the people.
O that my ways were directed to keep thy statutes!
I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.
O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.
Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks.
I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love.