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17 Your princes are like locusts,
your officials like a locust swarm,
    camping in the walls on a chilly day.
The sun rises, and they are chased away,
    and where they are is unknown.

18 Your shepherds have become drowsy,
king of Assyria, your nobles lie down.
Your people are scattered on the hills,
    with no one to gather them.
19 There is no cure for your brokenness,
    your wound is severe.
All who hear the report about you,
    clap hands over you.
For over whom has not passed
    your constant cruelty?

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