While the King sitteth at his table, My spikenard sendeth forth the smell thereof. A bundle of myrrh is my wellbeloved unto me; He shall lie all night betwixt my breasts. My beloved is unto me as a cluster of camphire In the vineyards of Engedi. Behold, thou art fair, my love; Behold, thou art fair; Thou hast doves' eyes.
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