By John Donne

For the most part according to Tremelius


HOW sits this citie, late most populous,
    Thus solitary, and like a widdow thus!
Amplest of Nations, Queene of Provinces
    She was, who now this tributary is!

Still in the night shee weepes, and her teares fall
    Downe by her cheeks along, and none of all
Her lovers comfort her; Perfidiously
    Her friends have dealt, and now are enemie.

Unto great bondage, and affliction
    Juda is captive led; Those nations
With whom shee dwells, no place of rest afford,
    In straights shee meets her Persecutors sword.

Emptie are the gates of Sion, and her waies
    Mourne, because none come to her solemne dayes.
Her Priests doe groane, her maides are comfortless,
    And shee's unto her selfe a bitternesse.

Her foes are growne her head, and live at Peace,
    Because when her transgressions did increase,
The Lord strooke her with sadnesse: Th'enemie
    Doth drive her children to captivitie.

From Sions daughter is all beauty gone,
    Like Harts, which seeke for Pasture, and find none,
Her Princes are, and now before the foe
    Which still pursues them, without strength they go.

Now in her daies of Teares, Jerusalem
    (Her men slaine by the foe, none succouring them)
Remembers what of old, shee esteemed most,
    Whilest her foes laugh at her, for what she hath lost.

Jerusalem hath sinn'd, therefore is shee
    Remov'd, as women in uncleannesse bee;
Who honor'd, scorne her, for her foulnesse they
    Have seene; her selfe doth groane, and turne away.

Her foulnesse in her skirts was seene, yet she
    Remembered not her end; Miraculously
Therefore she fell, none comforting: Behold
    O Lord my affliction, for the Foe growes bold.

Upon all things where her delight hath beene,
    The foe hath stretch'd his hand, for shee hath seene
Heathen, whom thou command'st, should not doe so,
    Into her holy Sanctuary goe.

And all her people groane, and seeke for bread;
    And they have given, only to be fed,
All precious things, wherein their pleasure lay:
    How cheape I'am growne, O Lord, behold, and weigh.

All this concerns not you, who passe by mee,
    O see, and marke if any sorrow bee
Like to my sorrow, which Jehova hath
    Done to mee in the day of his fierce wrath?

That fire, which by himselfe is governed
    He hath cast from heaven on my bones, and spred
A net before my feet, and mee o'rthrowne,
    And made me languish all the day alone.

His hand hath of my sinnes framed a yoake
    Which wreath'd, and cast upon my neck, hath broke
My strength. The Lord unto those enemies
    Hath given mee, from whom I cannot rise.

He under foot hath troden in my sight
    My strong men; He did company invite
To breake my young men; he the winepresse hath
    Trod upon Juda's daughter in his wrath.

For these things doe I weepe, mine eye, mine eye
    Casts water out; For he which should be nigh
To comfort mee, is now departed farre;
    The foe prevailes, forlorne my children are.

There's  none, though Sion do stretch out her hand,
    To comfort her, it is the Lords command
That Jacobs foes girt him. Jerusalem
    Is as an uncleane woman amongst them.

But yet the Lord is just, and righteous still,
    I have rebell'd against his holy will;
O heare all people, and my sorrow see,
    My maides, my young men in captivitie.

I  called for my lovers then, but they
    Deceiv'd mee, and my Priests, and Elders lay
Dead in the citie; for they sought for meat
    Which should refresh their soules, they could not get.

Because  I am in straights, Jehova see
    My heart o'rturnd, my bowells muddy bee,
Because I have rebell'd so much, as fast
    The sword without, as death within, doth wast.

Of all which heare I mourne, none comforts mee,
    My foes have heard my griefe, and glad they be,
That thou hast done it; But thy promis'd day
    Will come, when, as I suffer, so shall they.

Let all their wickednesse appeare to thee,
    Doe unto them, as thou hast done to mee,
For all my sinnes: The sighs which I have had
    Are very many, and my heart is sad.

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