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47 Come down, and sit on the dust, O virgin daughter of Babylon, Sit on the earth, there is no throne, O daughter of the Chaldeans, For no more do they cry to thee, `O tender and delicate one.'

Take millstones, and grind flour, Remove thy veil, draw up the skirt, Uncover the leg, pass over the floods.

Revealed is thy nakedness, yea, seen is thy reproach, Vengeance I take, and I meet not a man.

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