Rotherham(i)
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.