Doom, city of bloodshed—all deceit, full of plunder: prey cannot get away.
Cracking whip and rumbling wheel, galloping horse and careening chariot!
Charging cavalry, flashing sword, and glittering spear; countless slain, masses of corpses, endless dead bodies—they stumble over their dead bodies!
Because of the many whorings of the whore, the lovely graces of the mistress of sorceries, the one who sells nations by means of her whorings and peoples by means of her sorceries:
Look! I am against you, proclaims the LORD of heavenly forces. I will lift your skirts over your face; I will show nations your nakedness and kingdoms your dishonor.
I will throw disgusting things at you; I will treat you with contempt and make you a spectacle.
Then all who look at you will recoil from you and say, "Nineveh has been devastated! Who will lament for her?" Where could I possibly seek comforters for you?
Are you better than Thebes, situated by the Nile, waters surrounding her, whose fortress is sea and whose city wall is waters?
Cush and Egypt constituted her strength, without limit; Put and the Libyans were her help.
Yet even she was destined for exile; she went into captivity. Indeed, her infants were dashed to pieces at the head of every street. They cast lots for her officials; all of her powerful citizens were bound in chains.
Yes, even you will become drunk; you will have to hide! Even you will have to seek refuge from the enemy!
All your fortifications are fig trees with ripe fruit; when the trees are shaken, the fruit falls into the mouth of the eater.
Look, your people are women in your midst. The gates of your land have been flung wide open to your enemies. Fire consumes the bars of your gates.
Draw water for yourself to prepare for siege! Strengthen your fortifications! Tread the clay, trample the mortar, grab the brick mold!
Fire will consume you there; the sword will cut you down; like the locust it will consume you. Multiply like the locust; multiply like the grasshopper!
You boasted more traders than the heavens have stars. The locust sheds its skin and flies away.
Your guards are like grasshoppers, your marshals like swarms of cicadas that encamp on stone fences on a chilly day; when the sun rises, they take flight; no one knows where they have gone.
Your shepherds have fallen asleep, king of Assyria! Your officials are lying down. Your people are scattered across the mountains; there is no one to gather them.
There is no remedy for your injury; your wound is grievous. All who hear the news about you clap their hands over you. Who has not suffered from your continual cruelty?