The husband men and the wyne gardeners shall loke pyteously & make lamentacyon, for the wheat wyne, and barley & because the haruest vpon the felde is so cleane destroyed.
In the day when thou diddest plant it, it was greate, and gaue sone the frute of thy sede. But in the daye of haruest, thou shalt reape and heape of sorowes and myseries.
What man is so wyse, as to vnderstande thys? Or to whome hath the Lorde spoken by mouth, that he may shewe this, and saye: O thou lande, why peryshest thou so? Wherfor art thou so brent vp, & lyke a wyldernesse, that no man goeth thorowe?
If no (sayeth the Lorde God, the God of hostes) there shal be mournynge in all stretes, yea they shal say in euerye strete: alas, alas. They shal cal the husband man to lamentacyon, and suche as can mourne to mournynge.
They shal rote out the sower from Babylon, & hym that handleth the syckle in haruest. For feare of the swearde of the enemye, euery man shal get hym to his owne people, and euery man shall flye to hys owne lande.