Now, therefore, will I break his yoke from off thee, - and, thy fetters, will I tear off.

Yet, as for Nineveh, like a reservoir of waters, are her waters, - but, those men, are in flight! Stand! stand but no one is turning.

Plunder silver, plunder gold, - and there is no end to the costly furnishing, rich with every article of delight.

Horsemen uplifting both the flashing sword, and the lightning spear, Aye, a mass of slain, and a weight of dead bridles, - and no end of corpses, so that they stumble upon their corpses.

Art thou better than No-amon, who sat among the Nile-streams, waters round about her, - whose fortress was the sea, from the sea, her wall.

No lessening of thine injury, grievous is thy wound, - all who have heard the report of thee, have clapped their hands over thee, for, upon whom, hath not thy cruelty passed without ceasing?