Woe to the city of blood,
The crack of the whip,
Charging horseman,
because of the many harlotries of the harlot,
“Behold, I am against you,”
I will pelt you with filth
Then all who see you
Are you better than Thebes,
Cush and Egypt were her boundless strength;
Yet she became an exile;
You too will become drunk;
All your fortresses are fig trees
Look at your troops—
Draw your water for the siege;
There the fire will devour you;
You have multiplied your merchants
Your guards are like the swarming locust,
O king of Assyria, your shepherds slumber;
There is no healing for your injury;