Come, My people, enter into thy inner chambers, And shut thy doors behind thee, Hide thyself shortly a moment till the indignation pass over.

And gone up her palaces have thorns, Nettle and bramble are in her fortresses, And it hath been a habitation of dragons, A court for daughters of an ostrich.

And the mirage hath become a pond, And the thirsty land fountains of waters, In the habitation of dragons, Its place of couching down, a court for reed and rush.