¹¹ Tremble,^(A) you complacent women;
    shudder, you daughters who feel secure!^(B)
Strip off your fine clothes^(C)
    and wrap yourselves in rags.^(D)
12 Beat your breasts^(E) for the pleasant fields,
    for the fruitful vines^(F)
13 and for the land of my people,
    a land overgrown with thorns and briers^(G)—
yes, mourn^(H) for all houses of merriment
    and for this city of revelry.^(I)