CHAP. I.
1
HOw sits this citie, late most populous,
Thus solitary, and like a widdow thus?
Amplest of Nations, Queene of Provinces
She was, who now thus tributary is?
2
Still in the night shee weepes, and her teares fall
Downe by her cheekes along, and none of all
Her lovers comfort her; Perfidiously
Her friends have dealt, and now are enemie.
3
Unto great bondage, and afflictions
Juda is captive led; Those nations
With whom shee dwells, no place of rest afford,
In streights shee meets her Persecutors sword.
4
Emptie are the gates of Sion, and her waies
Mourne, because none come to her solemne dayes.
Her Priests doe groane, her maides are comfortlesse,
And shee's unto her selfe a bitternesse.