Coverdale(i)
17 But yf ye wil not heare me, that geue you secrete warnynge, I will mourne fro my whole herte for youre stubburnesse. Piteously will I wepe, and the teares shall gushe out of myne eyes. For the LORDES flocke shal be caried awaye captiue.
18 Tell the kinge & the rulers: Humble yor selues, set you downe lowe, for ye crowne of yor glory shal fall from youre heade.