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.
Let both growe together tyl haruest come, & in tyme of haruest, I wyl saye to the reapers, gather ye fyrst the tares, & bynde theym in shewes too be brent: but gather the wheate into my barne.
And another angel came out from the aulter, whiche had power of fyre, and cryed wyth a loude crye to him that had the sharpe sykle, & sayed: thruste in thy sharpe sykle, and gather the clusters of the earth for her grapes are rip.