Coverdale(i)
17 Morouer, thus saieth the LORDE of hoostes: loke that ye call for mournynge wyues, and sende for wise women: that they come shortly,
18 and singe a mournynge songe of you: that the teares maye fall out of oure eyes, and that oure eye lyddes maye gushe out of water.
19 For there is a lamentable noyse herde of Sion: O how are we so sore destroyed? O how are we so piteously confounded? We must forsake oure owne naturall countre, and we are shot out of oure owne lodgiges.
20 Yet heare the worde of the LORDE (o ye women). And let youre eares regarde the wordes of his mouth: that ye maye lerne youre doughters to mourne, and that euery one maye teach hir neghbouresse, to make lamentacion.