And they have been troubled, Pains and pangs they take, As a travailing woman they are pained, A man at his friend they marvel, The appearance of flames — their faces!
Ask, I pray you, and see, is a male bringing forth? Wherefore have I seen every man, His hands on his loins, as a travailing woman, And all faces have been turned to paleness?
Darker than blackness hath been their visage, They have not been known in outplaces, Cleaved hath their skin unto their bone, It hath withered — it hath been as wood.
She is empty, yea, emptiness and waste, And the heart hath melted, And the knees have smitten together, And great pain [is] in all loins, And the faces of all of them have gathered paleness.
Where [is] the habitation of lionesses? And a feeding-place it [is] for young lions Where walked hath a lion, an old lion, A lion's whelp, and there is none troubling.