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All of them [are] adulterers, Like a burning oven of a baker, He ceaseth from stirring up after kneading the dough, till its leavening.

A day of our king! Princes have polluted themselves [with] the poison of wine, He hath drawn out his hand with scorners.

For they have drawn near, As an oven [is] their heart, In their lying in wait all the night sleep doth their baker, Morning! he is burning as a flaming fire.

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