5 Stay ye me with raisins, refresh me with apples; For I am sick from love.
6 His left hand `is' under my head, And his right hand doth embrace me.
7 I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes, or by the hinds of the field, That ye stir not up, nor awake `my' love, Until he please.
8 The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh, Leaping upon the mountains, Skipping upon the hills.
9 My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: Behold, he standeth behind our wall; He looketh in at the windows; He glanceth through the lattice.