8:1 Oh that you were my brother, who took milk from my mother's breasts! When I came to you in the street, I would give you kisses; yes, I would not be looked down on.
8:2 I would take you by the hand into my mother's house, and she would be my teacher. I would give you drink of spiced wine, drink of the pomegranate.
8:3 His left hand would be under my head, and his right hand about me.
8:5 Who is this, who comes up from the waste places, resting on her loved one? It was I who made you awake under the apple-tree, where your mother gave you birth; there she was in pain at your birth.
8:7 Much water may not put out love, or the deep waters overcome it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would be judged a price not great enough.
8:8 We have a young sister, and she has no breasts; what are we to do for our sister in the day when she is given to a man?
8:9 If she is a wall, we will make on her a strong base of silver; and if she is a door, we will let her be shut up with cedar-wood.
8:10 I am a wall, and my breasts are like towers; then was I in his eyes as one to whom good chance had come.
