8¶ The voice of my beloued! behold! hee commeth leaping vpon the mountaines, skipping vpon the hils. 9My 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. 10My beloued spake, and said vnto me, Rise vp, my Loue, my faire one, and come away.11For loe, the winter is past, the raine is ouer, and gone. 12The 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.