¹⁷ Thy princes are as the locusts, and thy ^[a]marshals as the swarms of grasshoppers, which encamp in the ^[b]hedges in the cold day, but when the sun ariseth they flee away, and their place is not known where they are. ¹⁸ Thy shepherds slumber, O king of Assyria; thy nobles are at rest; thy people are scattered upon the mountains, and there is none to gather them. ¹⁹ There is no assuaging of thy hurt; thy wound is grievous: all that hear the report of thee clap their hands over thee; for upon whom hath not thy wickedness passed continually?