8 ¶ The voice of my beloued! behold! hee commeth leaping vpon the mountaines, skipping vpon the hils.

9 My beloued is like a Roe, or a yong Hart: behold, he standeth behind our wall, he looketh foorth at the windowe, shewing himselfe through the lattesse.

10 My beloued spake, and said vnto me, Rise vp, my Loue, my faire one, and come away.

11 For loe, the winter is past, the raine is ouer, and gone.

12 The flowers appeare on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.

13 The fig tree putteth foorth her greene figs, and the vines with the tender grape giue a good smell. Arise, my loue, my faire one, and come away.

Song of Solomon | S H A L A W A M