1 Whither is thy beloved gone, O thou Fairest among women? whither is thy beloved turned aside? that we may seek him with thee.
2 Look away from me; I will weep bitterly, labor not to comfort me.
3 He hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him.
4 From the sole of the foot even unto the head, there is no soundness in him.
5 Stay me with flagons, to comfort me with apples; for I am sick of love.
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