Beauty is stripped,
she is carried away;
her ladies-in-waiting moan
like the sound of doves,
and beat their breasts.

Nineveh has been like a pool of water
from her first days,
but they are fleeing.
“Stop! Stop!” they cry,
but no one turns back.

Because of the continual prostitution of the prostitute,
the attractive mistress of sorcery,
who betrays nations by her prostitution
and clans by her witchcraft,

Then all who see you will recoil from you, saying,
“Nineveh is devastated;
who will show sympathy to her?”
Where can I find anyone to comfort you?

Are you better than Thebes
that sat along the Nile
with water surrounding her,
whose rampart was the sea,
the river her wall?

Cush and Egypt were her endless source of strength;
Put and Libya were among her allies.

Yet she became an exile;
she went into captivity.
Her children were also dashed to pieces
at the head of every street.
They cast lots for her dignitaries,
and all her nobles were bound in chains.

There is no remedy for your injury;
your wound is severe.
All who hear the news about you
will clap their hands because of you,
for who has not experienced
your constant cruelty?