5 I rose to open to my beloved, And my hands dropped myrrh, Yea, my fingers flowing myrrh, On the handles of the lock.
6 I opened to my beloved, But my beloved withdrew -- he passed on, My soul went forth when he spake, I sought him, and found him not. I called him, and he answered me not.
7 The watchmen who go round about the city, Found me, smote me, wounded me, Keepers of the walls lifted up my veil from off me.
8 I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, If ye find my beloved -- What do ye tell him? that I 'am' sick with love!
9 What 'is' thy beloved above 'any' beloved, O fair among women? What 'is' thy beloved above 'any' beloved, That thus thou hast adjured us?
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