8 Ceased hath the joy of tabrets, Ceased hath the noise of exulting ones, Ceased hath the joy of a harp.
9 With a song they drink not wine, Bitter is strong drink to those drinking it.
10 It was broken down -- a city of emptiness, Shut hath been every house from entrance.
11 A cry over the wine 'is' in out-places, Darkened hath been all joy, Removed hath been the joy of the land.
12 Left in the city 'is' desolation, And 'with' wasting is the gate smitten.
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