How sad and solitary now (alas,)
is that well-peopled city come to be!
which once so great among the nations was,
and oh how widow-like appeareth she!
She rule of all the provinces hath had,
and now herself is tributary made.
All night she maketh such excessive moan
that down her cheeks a flood of tears doth flow:
and yet, among her lovers there is none,
that consolation doth on her bestow.
For, they that once her lovers did appear,
now, turned foes and faithless to her are.
The very ways of Sion do lament;
the Gates thereof their loneliness deplore;
because that no man cometh to frequent
her solemn festivals as heretofore;
her priests do sigh; her tender virgins be
uncomfortable left; and so is she.
Her people do with sighs, and sorrows get
that little bread which for relief they have;
and give away their precious things for meat,
so to procure wherewith their lives to save.
Oh Lord consider this, and ponder Thou,
how vile, and how dejected I am now.
