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And when, thou, art laid waste, what wilt thou do? Though thou clothe thyself with crimson Though thou deck thyself with ornaments of gold Though thou enlarge with antimony thine eyes, In vain, shalt thou make thyself fair, - Paramours have rejected thee, Thy life, will they seek!

For a voice as of a woman in pangs, have I heard Anguish as of her that is bearing her firstborn. The voice of the daughter of Zion! She gaspeth for breath, She spreadeth forth her palms, - Surely woe to me! For my soul fainteth before murderers.