Matthew(i)
17 Moreouer, thus sayeth the Lorde of Hostes: loke that ye call for mournynge wyues, and send for wyse wemen: that they come shortly,
18 & synge a mournyng song of you: that the teares maye fall oute of oure eyes, and that oure eye lyddes maye gusshe oute of water.
19 For there is a lamentable noyse heard of Sion: O how are we so sore destroyed? O howe are we so piteously confounded? We muste forsake oure owne naturall countreye, & we are shote out of oure owne lodgynges.
20 Yet heare the worde of the Lorde (O ye wemen) and let your eares regard the wordes of hys mouth: that ye may learne your doughters to mourne, and that euerye one maye teache her neighbouresse, to make lamentacyon.
21 Namely thus Death is climminge vp in at oure windowes he is come into oure houses, to destroye the chylde before the dore, and the younge man in the strete.
22 But tell thou planelye, thus sayeth the Lorde: The dead bodyes of men shall lye vpon the grounde, as the dong vpon the felde, and as the heye after the mower, and there shalbe no man to take them vp.