Matthew(i)
1 Nowe wel then, I wyl syng my beloued frende a songe of hys vyneyarde. My beloued frende hath a vyneyard in a very frutefull plenteous grounde.
2 This he hedged, this he walled rounde about, & planted with goodly grapes. In the myddest of it buylded he a toure, & made a wyne presse therein. And afterwarde when he loked that it shulde bringe him grapes, it broughte forthe thornes.
3 I shewe you nowe my cause (O ye Cytesens of Ierusalem & whole Iuda:) Iudge I praye you betwixte me, & my vyneyarde.
4 What more coulde haue bene done for it, that I haue not done? Wherfore then hath it geuen thornes, where I loked to haue had grapes of it?
5 Well, I shall tell you how I wyl do with my vineyarde: I will take the hedge from it, that it maye perishe, & breake doune the wall, that it maye be troden vnder fote.
6 I wyl laye it waste, that it shall neyther be twisted nor cut, but beare thornes and breares. I wil also forbydde the cloudes, that they shall not raine vpon it.
7 As for the vyneyarde of the Lorde of Hostes it is the house of Israel, & whole Iuda hys fayre plantynge. Of these he loked for equyte, but se there is wronge: for rightuousnesse, lo, It is but miserye.