¹³ The fig-tree hath ripened her green figs, And the sweet-smelling vines have given forth fragrance, Rise, come, my friend, my fair one, yea, come away.

¹⁴ My dove, in clefts of the rock, In a secret place of the ascent, Cause me to see thine appearance, Cause me to hear thy voice, For thy voice [is] sweet, and thy appearance comely.

¹⁵ Seize ye for us foxes, Little foxes -- destroyers of vineyards, Even our sweet-smelling vineyards.