Gird yourselves and beat the breast - ye priests, howl, ye attendants of the altar, go in and wrap yourselves for the night in sackcloth, ye attendants on my God, - for, withholden from the house of your God, are the meal-offering and the drink- offering.

Thrust ye in the vintage knife, for, grown ripe, is the vintage, - Go in, tread down, for full is the winepress, flow over do the vats, for abundant is their wickedness.