Put in your sithes, for ye haruest is ripe: come ye and descende, for the wine presse is full, yea the presses ouerflowe: for their wickednesse is multiplied
I haue troden the presse my selfe alone, and of all people there is not one with me: Thus wyll I treade them downe in my wrath, and set my feete vpon them in myne indignation, and their blood shal be sprong vpon my clothes, and so wyll I stayne all my rayment
For thus saith the Lorde of hoastes the God of Israel, The daughter of Babylon hath ben in her tyme lyke as a threshyng floore, but shortly shall her haruest come
The Lorde hath destroyed all the mightie men that were in me, he hath proclaymed an appoynted tyme to slaughter all my best men: the Lorde hath troden downe the daughter of Iuda, lyke as it were in a winepresse
And I loked, and beholde a whyte cloude, and vpon the cloude one sittyng lyke vnto the sonne of man, hauyng on his head a golden crowne, and in his hande a sharpe sickle.
And out of his mouth went a sharpe sworde, that with it he shoulde smyte the heathen: and he shall rule the with a rodde of yron. And he trode the winefat of fiercenesse and wrath of almightie God.
And he shalbe as one that gathereth vp corne in haruest, euen lyke hym whose arme reapeth the eares of corne: He shalbe also lyke hym that gathereth eares of corne in the valley of Rephaim