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Awake, ye drunkards, and weep, And howl all drinking wine, because of the juice, For it hath been cut off from your mouth.

For a nation hath come up on my land, Strong, and there is no number, Its teeth [are] the teeth of a lion, And it hath the jaw-teeth of a lioness.

It hath made my vine become a desolation, And my fig-tree become a chip, It hath made it thoroughly bare, and hath cast down, Made white have been its branches.

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