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I sleepe, but my heart waketh: it is the voyce of my beloued that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my loue, my doue, my vndefiled: for my head is filled with dewe, and my lockes with the drops of the night.

I haue put off my coate, how shall I put it on? I haue washed my feete, how shall I defile them?

My beloued put in his hand by the hole of the dore, and my bowels were moued for him.

I rose vp to open to my beloued, and my hands dropped with myrrhe, and my fingers with sweete smelling myrrhe, vpon the handles of the locke.

I opened to my beloued, but my beloued had with drawen himselfe, and was gone: my soule failed when hee spake: I sought him, but I could not find him: I called him, but he gaue me no answere.

The watchmen that went about the citie, found me, they smote me, they wounded me, the keepers of the walles tooke away my vaile from me.