Nahum 3

Woe to the city of bloodshed, all of it full of lies and plunder, never without prey! The crack of a whip, the rattle of wheels, galloping horses and bounding chariots! Horsemen charging, swords flashing, spears glittering!
A multitude of slain, heaps of corpses, bodies without end—they stumble over their bodies! All because of the many prostitutions of the charming prostitute, the mistress of sorceries, who sells nations through her prostitution and families through her sorceries. “Look, I am against you,” declares the LORD of hosts.
“I will lift your skirts over your face and show the nations your nakedness and the kingdoms your shame. I will throw filth upon you, disgrace you, and make you a spectacle. All who see you will flee from you and say, ‘Nineveh is devastated!
Who will mourn for her?’ Where shall I seek comforters for you?” Are you better than No-amon, seated among the Nile channels with waters around her, whose rampart was the sea and whose wall was from the sea? Cush was her strength, and Egypt too, without limit.
Put and the Libyans were your helpers. Yet she too went into exile, into captivity.
Her little children were dashed to pieces at the head of every street.
Lots were cast for her honored men, and all her great men were bound in chains. You too will become drunk;
you will be hidden.
You too will seek refuge from the enemy. All your strongholds are fig trees with early ripe figs.
If shaken, they fall into the eater’s mouth. Look, your people in your midst are women!
The gates of your land are opened wide to your enemies;
fire has consumed your bars. Draw water for the siege!
Strengthen your defenses!
Go into the mud and tread the clay;
take hold of the brick mold! There fire will consume you;
the sword will cut you off.
It will devour you like the hopping locust.
Multiply yourself like the hopping locust;
multiply yourself like the swarming locust! You have multiplied your merchants beyond the stars of heaven.
The hopping locust strips bare and flies away. Your officials are like swarming locusts, your officers like swarms of locusts settling on walls on a cold day.
The sun rises, and they fly away;
no one knows where they are. Your shepherds slumber, king of Assyria;
your nobles lie at rest.
Your people are scattered on the mountains, and there is no one to gather them. There is no relief for your ruin;
your wound is incurable.
All who hear the news of you clap their hands over you, for who has not suffered continually from your evil?

Rights and attribution