The chariots race recklessly along the streets and rush wildly through the squares. They flash like firelight and move as swiftly as lightning. The king shouts to his officers; they stumble in their haste, rushing to the walls to set up their defenses. The river gates have been torn open! The palace is about to collapse! Nineveh’s exile has been decreed, and all the servant girls mourn its capture. They moan like doves and beat their breasts in sorrow. Nineveh is like a leaking water reservoir! The people are slipping away. “Stop, stop!” someone shouts, but no one even looks back. Loot the silver! Plunder the gold! There’s no end to Nineveh’s treasures— its vast, uncounted wealth. Soon the city is plundered, empty, and ruined. Hearts melt and knees shake. The people stand aghast, their faces pale and trembling. Where now is that great Nineveh, that den filled with young lions? It was a place where people—like lions and their cubs— walked freely and without fear. The lion tore up meat for his cubs and strangled prey for his mate. He filled his den with prey, his caverns with his plunder.
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