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Chapter 7

Woe is me! I am like the one who gathers summer fruit,
    when the vines have been gleaned;
There is no cluster to eat,
    no early fig that I crave.
The faithful have vanished from the earth,
    no mortal is just!
They all lie in wait to shed blood,
    each one ensnares the other.(A)
Their hands succeed at evil;
    the prince makes demands,
The judge is bought for a price,
    the powerful speak as they please.(B)

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