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¹ The oracle on Tyre, - Howl! ye ships of Tarshish, For it is laid too waste to be a haven to enter, From the land of Cyprus, hath it been unveiled to them.² Be dumb, ye inhabitants of the Coast, - Whom the merchants of Zidon, passing over the sea, once replenished;³ Yea on mighty waters, was the grain of Shihor, The harvest of the Nile, was her increase, - And so she became a mart of nations.⁴ Turn thou pale, O Zidon, For spoken hath the sea, the fortress of the sea saying, - I have neither been in pangs nor given birth I have neither brought up young men nor promoted virgins.⁵ Like the report of Egypt, They shall be in pangs at the like report of Tyre.⁶ Pass ye over to Tarshish, - Howl ye inhabitants of the Coast:⁷ Is this to you an exultation? Though from ancient day, is her antiquity, Yet shall her own feet carry her away, far off to dwell.⁸ Who hath purposed this, against Tyre, The bestower of crowns, - Whose merchants are princes, Her traders the honourable of the earth?⁹ Yahweh of hosts, hath purposed it, - To humble the pride of all beauty, To make of little esteem all the honourable of the earth.¹⁰ Pass through thy land as the Nile, - O daughter of Tarshish, there is no restraint any longer!¹¹ His hand, hath he stretched out over the sea, He hath shaken kingdoms, - Yahweh, hath given command against she Phoenician coast, To destroy her fortresses.¹² Therefore hath he said, - No more, again, do thou exult, Thou violated virgin daughter of Zidon, - To Cyprus, arise and pass over, Even there, shall one find thee no rest.¹³ Lo! the land of the Chaldeans, This is the people that was not, Assyria, founded it for the inhabitants of the desert, - They set up its siege-towers, They demolished its palaces Made it a ruin!¹⁴ Howl, ye ships of Tarshish, - For laid waste is your fortress.

¹⁵ So shall it be in that day, That Tyre shall be forgotten seventy years, According to the days of a certain king: At the end of seventy years, shall it befall Tyre according to the song of the harlot:¹⁶ Take thou a lyre, Go round the city, O harlot forgotten, - Sweetly touch the strings Lengthen out the song, That thou mayest be called to mind.¹⁷ So shall it be, at the end of seventy years, That Yahweh will visit Tyre, And she will return to her hire, - Yea she will play the harlot - with all the kingdoms of the earth, upon the face of the ground.¹⁸ But her merchandise and her hire, shall be hallowed unto Yahweh, It shall not be stored up, nor hoarded, - For, to them who dwell before Yahweh, shall her merchandise belong, That they may eat to satisfaction And have stately apparel.