its mistress is stripped; she is carried off, her slave girls lamenting, moaning like doves and beating their breasts.
We all growl like bears; we moan and moan like doves; we hope for justice, but there is none; for salvation, but it is far from us.
Like a swallow or a crane I chirp; I moan like a dove. My eyes are weary with looking upward. O Lord, I am oppressed; be my pledge of safety!
And all the crowds that had assembled for this spectacle, when they saw what had taken place, returned home beating their breasts.
And there followed him a great multitude of the people and of women who were mourning and lamenting for him.
Beat your breasts for the pleasant fields, for the fruitful vine,
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