"Get off your high horse and sit in the dirt, virgin daughter of Babylon. No more throne for you - sit on the ground, daughter of the Chaldeans. Nobody will be calling you 'charming' and 'alluring' anymore. Get used to it.
Get a job, any old job: Clean gutters, scrub toilets. Hock your gowns and scarves, put on overalls - the party's over.
Your nude body will be on public display, exposed to vulgar taunts. It's vengeance time, and I'm taking vengeance. No one gets let off the hook." You're Acting Like the Center of the Universe
Our Redeemer speaks, named God-of-the-Angel-Armies, The Holy of Israel:
"Shut up and get out of the way, daughter of Chaldeans. You'll no longer be called 'First Lady of the Kingdoms.'
I was fed up with my people, thoroughly disgusted with my progeny. I turned them over to you, but you had no compassion. You put old men and women to cruel, hard labor.
You said, 'I'm the First Lady. I'll always be the pampered darling.' You took nothing seriously, took nothing to heart, never gave tomorrow a thought.
Well, start thinking, playgirl. You're acting like the center of the universe, Smugly saying to yourself, 'I'm Number One. There's nobody but me. I'll never be a widow, I'll never lose my children.'
Those two things are going to hit you both at once, suddenly, on the same day: Spouse and children gone, a total loss, despite your many enchantments and charms.
You were so confident and comfortable in your evil life, saying, 'No one sees me.' You thought you knew so much, had everything figured out. What delusion! Smugly telling yourself, 'I'm Number One. There's nobody but me.'
Ruin descends - you can't charm it away. Disaster strikes - you can't cast it off with spells. Catastrophe, sudden and total - and you're totally at sea, totally bewildered!
But don't give up. From your great repertoire of enchantments there must be one you haven't yet tried. You've been at this a long time. Surely something will work.
I know you're exhausted trying out remedies, but don't give up. Call in the astrologers and stargazers. They're good at this. Surely they can work up something!
"Fat chance. You'd be grasping at straws that are already in the fire, A fire that is even now raging. Your 'experts' are in it and won't get out. It's not a fire for cooking venison stew, not a fire to warm you on a winter night!
That's the fate of your friends in sorcery, your magician buddies you've been in cahoots with all your life. They reel, confused, bumping into one another. None of them bother to help you.