So she lusted after their courtiers,- Whose flesh was the flesh of asses, and Whose issue was the issue of horses.

And she saw she had waited Lost was her hope, Then took she another of her whelps. A young lion, she made him.

For, her own blood, hath come to be in her midst, Upon the smooth face of the cliff, hath she set it,- She hath not poured it out on the earth, that she might cover it with dust.

And her unchaste doings from the time she was in Egypt:, trod she not forsaken, For with her, had they lain in her youth, Yea They had pressed her virgin bosoms,- and had poured out their unchastity upon her.