Coverdale(i)
2 Then sayde ye kynge vnto me: Why lokest thou so sadly? Thou art not sicke, that is not ye matter, but thou art heuy harted. Neuertheles I was sore afrayed,
3 & sayde vnto the kynge: God saue the kynges life for euer, shulde I not loke sadly? the cite of my fathers buryall lyeth wayest, & the portes therof are consumed wt the fyre.
4 Then sayde the kynge vnto me: What is the thy request? Then made I my prayer to the God of heaue,
5 and sayde vnto the kynge: yf it please the kynge, and yf thy seruaunt be fauoured in thy sighte, I beseke the sende me in to Iuda vnto ye cite of my fathers buryall, that I maye buylde it.