Say thou unto the king and to the queen-mother, Humble yourselves, sit down; for your headtires are come down, even the crown of your glory.
Lift up your eyes, and behold them that come from the north: where is the flock that was given thee, thy beautiful flock?
And the wild asses stand on the bare heights, they pant for air like jackals; their eyes fail, because there is no herbage.
They that did feed delicately are desolate in the streets: They that were brought up in scarlet embrace dunghills.
Our pursuers were swifter than the eagles of the heavens: They chased us upon the mountains, they laid wait for us in the wilderness.