7I charge you, O ye daughters of Ierusalem, by the Roes, and by the hindes of the field, that ye stirre not vp, nor awake my loue, till she please. 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.