Chapter IV

Come, sad Captives, leave your moanes,
And your groanes 20
Under Syons ruines bury;
Tune your harps, and sing us layes
In the praise
Of your God, and let's be merry.

V.

Can, ah, can we leave our moanes? 25
And our groanes
Under Syons ruines bury?
Can we in this Land sing Layes
In the praise
Of our God, and here be merry? 30

VI.

No; deare Syon, if I yet
Do forget
Thine affliction miserable,
Let my nimble joynts become
Stiffe and numme, 35
To touch warbling harpe unable.

VII.

Let my tongue lose singing skill,
Let it still
To my parched roofe be glewed,
If in either harpe or voice 40
I rejoyce,
Till thy joyes shall be renewed.

VIII.

Lord, curse Edom's traiterous kinde,
Beare in minde
In our ruines how they revell'd. 45
_Sack_, _kill_, _burne_, they cry'd out still,
_Sack_, _burne_, _kill_,
Downe with all, let all be levell'd.

IX.

And, thou Babel, when the tide
Of thy pride 50
Now a flowing, growes to turning;
Victor now, shall then be thrall,
And shall fall
To as low an ebbe of mourning.