How hath a faithful city become a harlot? I have filled it with judgment, Righteousness lodgeth in it -- now murderers.

And it hath come to pass, in that day, That forgotten is Tyre seventy years, According to the days of one king. At the end of seventy years there is to Tyre as the song of the harlot.

Take a harp, go round the city, O forgotten harlot, play well, Multiply song that thou mayest be remembered.