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I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem, By the gazelles, or by the hinds of the field, That ye stir not up, nor awake [my] love, till he please.

The voice of my beloved! Behold, he cometh Leaping upon the mountains, Skipping upon the hills.

My beloved is like a gazelle or a young hart. Behold, he standeth behind our wall, He looketh in through the windows, Glancing through the lattice.

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