8Agayne, the worde of the Lorde came vnto me, saying:
9Thou sonne of man, prophecie and speake, thus saith the Lorde God, Speake, the sworde the sworde is sharpened and well furbished.
10Sharpened is it to make a great slaughter, and furbished that it may glitter: Shall we then make mirth? It contemneth the rodde of my sonne as all other trees.
11He hath geuen it to be furbished, to holde it in the hande: this sworde is sharpened, and furbished, to geue it into the hande of the slayer.
12Crye and houle sonne of man, for it commeth vpon my people it commeth vpon all the princes of Israel: the terrours of the sworde shalbe vpon my people, smite therfore thou vpon thy thygh.
13Because it is a triall: and what if it contemne the rodde? It shalbe no more saith the Lorde.
14Prophecie thou sonne of man, & smite thy handes together, & let the sworde be doubled thrise, euen the sworde of the great slaughter, entryng into their priuie chaumbers,
15To make them faynt at the heartes, and to multiplie their falles, in all their gates, haue I geuen the terrour of the sworde: Ah it is made bright, and dressed for the slaughter.