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The precious sons of Zion, Who are comparable with fine gold, How have they been reckoned earthen bottles, Work of the hands of a potter.

Even dragons have drawn out the breast, They have suckled their young ones, The daughter of my people is become cruel, Like the ostriches in a wilderness.

Cleaved hath the tongue of a suckling unto his palate with thirst, Infants asked bread, a dealer out they have none.

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