It is decreed that the city be exiled, its slave women led away, moaning like doves and beating their breasts.
Beat your breasts for the pleasant fields, for the fruitful vine,
Like a swallow or a crane I clamor; I moan like a dove. My eyes are weary with looking upward. O Lord, I am oppressed; be my security!
We all growl like bears; like doves we moan mournfully. We wait for justice, but there is none; for salvation, but it is far from us.
If any survivors escape, they shall be found on the mountains like doves of the valleys, all of them moaning over their iniquity.
The river gates are opened; the palace trembles.
Look at your troops: they are women in your midst. The gates of your land are wide open to your foes; fire has devoured the bars of your gates.
While Peter was below in the courtyard, one of the female servants of the high priest came by.
A great number of the people followed him, and among them were women who were beating their breasts and wailing for him.
And when all the crowds who had gathered there for this spectacle saw what had taken place, they returned home, beating their breasts.