Take ye the spoil of silver. Take the spoil of gold. For there is no end of the store, the glory of all goodly furniture.

the horseman mounting, and the flashing sword, and the glittering spear, and a multitude of slain, and a great heap of corpses, and there is no end of the bodies. They stumble upon their bodies,

There the fire shall devour thee. The sword shall cut thee off. It shall devour thee like the canker-worm. Make thyself many as the canker-worm. Make thyself many as the locust.

Thy shepherds slumber, O king of Assyria. Thy nobles are at rest. Thy people are scattered upon the mountains, and there is none to gather them.

There is no assuaging of thy hurt. Thy wound is grievous. All who hear the report of thee clap their hands over thee, for upon whom has not thy wickedness passed continually?