¹² I make man more rare than fine gold, And a common man than pure gold of Ophir.

¹ And taken hold have seven women on one man, In that day, saying, `Our own bread we do eat, And our own raiment we put on, Only, let thy name be called over us, Remove thou our reproach.'

⁶ Therefore a curse hath consumed the land, And the inhabitants in it are become desolate, Therefore consumed have been inhabitants of the land, And few men have been left.

¹⁶ It is not valued with pure gold of Ophir, With precious onyx and sapphire,

⁹ O the happiness of him who doth seize, And hath dashed thy sucklings on the rock!

¹⁵ Every one who is found is thrust through, And every one who is added falleth by sword.

¹⁶ And their sucklings are dashed to pieces before their eyes, Spoiled are their houses, and their wives lain with.

¹⁷ Lo, I am stirring up against them the Medes, Who silver esteem not, And gold -- they delight not in it.

¹⁸ And bows dash young men to pieces, And the fruit of the womb they pity not, On sons their eye hath no pity.