While the king listens to my prayers, he Sitteth at his table of delights. My spikenard rises, and Sendeth forth the incense of my soul. The smell thereof beckons.
We will run after you. Make us fleet of foot, Thee, easy to be found. Borders of your garden make hide and seek fun. Gold in sight, With mother-of-pearl in-lays, Studs of silver, piercing willing ears.
Thy cheeks, flush with love, Are comely and inviting. With rows of jewels, you beckon me. Thy neck with bands of compassion, and Chains of gold not cold iron.
I have suffered, and Compared thee to my oppressor. O my love, you’re not to blame, To a company of horses tie me; In Pharaoh’s chariots, make me serve.