The chariots race madly through the streets, they rush back and forth in the broad plazas; they look like lightning bolts, they dash here and there like flashes of lightning.

Her conquerors cry out: "Plunder the silver! Plunder the gold!" There is no end to the treasure; riches of every kind of precious thing.

The charioteers will charge ahead; their swords will flash and their spears will glimmer! There will be many people slain; there will be piles of the dead, and countless casualties -- so many that people will stumble over the corpses.

Everyone who sees you will turn away from you in disgust; they will say, 'Nineveh has been devastated! Who will lament for her?' There will be no one to comfort you!"

Your shepherds are sleeping, O king of Assyria! Your officers are slumbering! Your people are scattered like sheep on the mountains and there is no one to regather them!