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And her sons I do not pity, For sons of whoredoms [are] they,

For gone a-whoring hath their mother, Acted shamefully hath their conceiver, For she hath said, I go after my lovers, Those giving my bread and my water, My wool and my flax, my oil and my drink.

Therefore, lo, I am hedging up thy way with thorns, And I have made for her a wall, And her paths she doth not find.

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