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 --