7 Mourned hath the new wine, languished the vine, Sighed have all the joyful of heart.
8 Ceased hath the joy of tabrets, Ceased hath the noise of exulting ones, Ceased hath the joy of a harp.
9 With a song they drink not wine, Bitter is strong drink to those drinking it.
10 It was broken down -- a city of emptiness, Shut hath been every house from entrance.
11 A cry over the wine [is] in out-places, Darkened hath been all joy, Removed hath been the joy of the land.
12 Left in the city [is] desolation, And [with] wasting is the gate smitten.
13 When thus it is in the heart of the land, In the midst of the peoples, As the compassing of the olive, As gleanings when harvest hath been finished,
