NOTE: 38

21

Seven days, seven nights, The turnip in my belt has withered, [My] beloved does not come out to us from the door, [So that] our heart might cool a little. *Vay, lo! Vay, lo! Vay, lo! Vay, lo!* My beloved took offense, The turnip withered; The shepherd took offense, The sheep went astray; The reaper grew bewildered, The milking-pail overturned. Come, [my] beloved, come, do not remain aggrieved, The affairs of this mortal world shall not endure for me, [nor] for thee. Let me take my tambour, Let me climb upon thy grandmother’s roof-opening, That thou mayest hear my partridge-voice, [And] awaken from thy sweet sleep.