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17 Your princes are as the swarming locusts, and your captains as the great grasshoppers which remain in the hedges in the cold time. When the Sun rises, they flee away. And the place where they are is not known.

18 Your shepherds sleep, O king of Assyria! Your strong men lie down. Your people are scattered upon the mountains. And no man gathers.

19 There is no healing of your wound. Your plague is grievous. All who hear of you shall clap their hands over you. For upon whom has not your malice passed continually?

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