Woe is me! for I am as when they have gathered the summer fruits, as the grape gleanings of the vintage: there is no cluster to eat; my soul desireth the first-ripe fig.

Sorrow is mine! for I am as when they have got in the summer fruits, like the last of the grapes: there is nothing for food, not even an early fig for my desire.

Ουαι εις εμε, διοτι ειμαι ως επικαρπολογια θερους, ως επιφυλλις τρυγητου δεν υπαρχει βοτρυς δια να φαγη τις η ψυχη μου επεθυμησε τας απαρχας των καρπων.

Woe is me! for I am as when they have gathered the summer fruits, as the grapegleanings of the vintage: there is no cluster to eat: my soul desired the firstripe fruit.