To the prophets; Mine heart is contrite, either all-broken for sorrow, in the midst of me, all my bones trembled together; I am made as a man drunken, and as a man wet of wine, of the face of the Lord, and of the face of the holy words of him;
My womb acheth, my womb acheth; the wits of mine heart be troubled in me. I shall not be still, for my soul heard the voice of a trump, the cry of battle.
I heard, and my womb is troubled altogether; my lips trembled altogether of the voice. Rot entered in[to] my bones, and sprang under me; that I rest again in the day of tribulation, and I shall go up to our people girded altogether.