O daughter of my people, gird thee with sackcloth, and wallow thyself in ashes: make thee mourning, as for an only son, most bitter lamentation; for the destroyer shall suddenly come upon us.
Þe douytir of my puple, be thou gird with heire, and be thou spreynt togidere with aische; make to þee mourenyng of oon aloone gendrid sone, a bitter weilyng, for whi a wastere schal come sodenli on you.