Laye to youre sythes, for the haruest is rype: come, get you doune: the winepresse is ful, yea the wynepresses runne ouer, for theyr wickednesse is waxen greate.
I haue troden the presse my self alone, and of al people, there was not one with me. Thus haue I troden doune myne enemyes in my wrath, and set my fete vpon them in my indignacyon. And their bloude sprange vpon my clothes, and so haue I stayned al my raiment.
For thus sayeth the Lorde of hostes the God of Israell: the doughter of Babylon hath bene in her tyme lyke as a threshynge floure, but shortly shal her haruest come.
Samech. The Lorde hath destroyed all the mightie men, that were in me. He hath proclamed a feast, to slaughter all my best men. The Lord hath troden downe the daughter of Iuda, like as it were in wyne presse.
And I loked and beholde a whyte cloude, & vpon the cloude one setting like vnto the sonne of man, hauinge on his head a golden croune, & in his hand a sharpe sykle.
& out of hys mouthe went out a sharpe swearde, that with it he should smyte the heathen. And he shal rule them wyth a rod of Iron, & he trode the wine fat of the fiercenes & wrath of almightye God.
It shal happen to them, as when one sheareth in haruest, which cutteth his handfull with the sickle, and when one gathereth the sheaues together in the valley, of Raphaim