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And it cometh to pass, in the month of Nisan, the twentieth year of Artaxerxes the king, wine [is] before him, and I lift up the wine, and give to the king, and I had not been sad before him;

and the king saith to me, `Wherefore [is] thy face sad, and thou not sick? this is nothing except sadness of heart;' and I fear very much,

and say to the king, `Let the king to the age live! wherefore should not my face be sad, when the city, the place of the graves of my fathers, [is] a waste, and its gates have been consumed with fire?'

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