¶ Come into my garden O my sister, my Spouse: I have gathered my Myrre with my spice. I will eat my honey and my honeycomb, I will drink my wine and my milk. Eat, O ye friends, drink and be merry, O ye beloved.
¶ As I was asleep, and my heart waking, I heard the voice of my beloved, when he knocked. Open to me (said he) O my sister, my love, my dove, my dearling: for my head is full of dew, and my locks of my hair are full of the night drops. I have put off my coat: how can I do it on again? I have washed my feet, how shall I file them again? But when my love put in his hand at the hole, my heart was moved toward him: so that I stood up to open unto my beloved. My hands dropped with Myrre, and the Myrre ran down my fingers upon the lock. 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. So the watchmen that went about the city found me, smote me, and wounded me: Yea they that kept the walls, took away my garment from me. I charge you therefore, O ye daughters of Ierusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him how that I am sick for love.
¶ Who is thy love above other lovers, O thou fairest among women? Or what can thy love do, more than other lovers, that thou chargest us so straightly? As for my loved, he is white and red colored, a singular person among many thousands: His head is the most fine gold, the locks of his hair are bushed, brown as the evening: His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the water brooks, washened with milk, and remaining in a plenteous place: His cheeks are like a garden bed, wherein the Apothecaries plant all manner of sweet things: His lips drop as the flowers of the most principal Myrre, his hands are full of gold rings and precious stones. His body is as the pure ivory, decked over with Sapphires: His legs are as the pillars of Marble, set upon sockets of gold: His face is as Libanus, and as the beauty of the Cedar trees: His throat is sweet, yea he is altogether lovely. Such one is my love, O ye daughters of Ierusalem, such one is my love.