For from of old thou hast broken thy yoke, Drawn away thy bands, and sayest, 'I do not serve,' For, on every high height, and under every green tree, Thou art wandering -- a harlot.

How sayest thou, 'I have not been defiled, After the Baalim I have not gone?' See thy way in a valley, know what thou hast done, A swift dromedary winding her ways,

Withhold thy foot from being unshod, And thy throat from thirst, And thou sayest, 'It is incurable, No, for I have loved strangers, and after them I go.'

And thou sayest, 'Because I have been innocent, Surely turned back hath His anger from me?' Lo, I have been judged with thee, Because of thy saying, 'I have not sinned.'