CLV(i)
30 And you, O spoiled one, what do you? For you put on scarlet, For you adorn yourself [with] ornaments of gold. For you rend with pain your eyes, In vain you do make yourself fair, Kicked against you have doting ones, Your life they do seek."
31 For a voice as of a sick woman I have heard, Distress, as of one bringing forth a first-born, The voice of the daughter of Zion, She bewails herself, she spreads out her hands, `Woe to me now, for weary is my soul of slayers!'"