All thy fortresses are fig-trees with first-fruits, If they are shaken, They have fallen into the mouth of the eater.
And the fading flower of the beauty of his glory That is on the head of the fat valley, Hath been as its first-fruit before summer, That its beholder seeth, While it is yet in his hand he swalloweth it.
In the one basket are figs very good, like the first-ripe figs, and in the other basket are figs very bad, that are not eaten for badness.
And at kings it doth scoff, And princes are a laughter to it, At every fenced place it doth laugh, And it heapeth up dust, and captureth it.
and the stars of the heaven fell to the earth--as a fig-tree doth cast her winter figs, by a great wind being shaken--