Come down and sit in the dust, virgin daughter of Babylon; sit on the ground, unthroned daughter of the Chaldeans. No longer will they call you tender and delicate.
I was angry with my people; I profaned my inheritance and handed them over to you. You showed them no mercy; even on the aged you laid your yoke most heavily.
Now then, listen, you pampered one, lounging in your security, saying to yourself, "I am, and there is no one besides me. I will never sit as a widow or know the loss of children."
Both of these will come upon you in an instant, on a single day: loss of children and widowhood. They will come upon you in full measure, despite your many sorceries and all the power of your spells.
You trusted in your wickedness and said, "No one sees me." Your wisdom and knowledge have led you astray, and you said in your heart, "I am, and there is no one besides me."
But disaster will come upon you, and you will not know how to charm it away. Ruin will fall on you that you cannot ward off; devastation will come upon you suddenly, before you know it.
Keep on, then, with your spells and your many sorceries, at which you have labored since your youth. Perhaps you will find some benefit; perhaps you will inspire terror.
You are worn out with all your schemes. Let them stand up and save you—those who map the heavens, who study the stars, who announce month by month what is coming upon you.
See, they are all like stubble; the fire consumes them. They cannot save themselves from the power of the flame. These are no coals for warming, no fire to sit beside.