The Beloved to Her Lover: Oh, how I wish you were my little brother, nursing at my mother’s breasts; if I saw you outside, I could kiss you – surely no one would despise me!

The Beloved’s Brothers: We have a little sister, and as yet she has no breasts. What shall we do for our sister on the day when she is spoken for?

Do not stare at me because I am dark, for the sun has burned my skin. My brothers were angry with me; they made me the keeper of the vineyards. Alas, my own vineyard I could not keep!

The Beloved to Her Lover: Catch the foxes for us, the little foxes, that ruin the vineyards – for our vineyard is in bloom.