13. The fig tree ripeneth her green figs, and the vines are in blossom, they give forth their fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
14. O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the covert of the steep place, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice: for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.
15. Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vineyards; for our vineyards are in blossom.
16. My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth his flock among the lilies.
17. Until the day be cool, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.