Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, Leaning upon her beloved? Under the apple-tree I awakened thee: There thy mother was in travail with thee, There was she in travail that brought thee forth.
Who is this spousesse, þat stieth fro desert, and flowith in delices, and restith on hir derlynge? Y reiside þee vndur a pumgranate tre; þere thi modir was corrupt, þere thi modir was defoulid.