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20 Insults have broken my heart.
    I’m sick about it.
I hoped for sympathy,
    but there wasn’t any;
    I hoped for comforters,
    but couldn’t find any.
21 They gave me poison for food.
    To quench my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink.

22 Let the table before them become a trap,
    their offerings a snare.

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