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Do you not know this of old, Since man was placed on earth, that the triumphling of the wicked is short. And the joy of the hypocrite is but for a moment? Though his haughtiness mounts up to the heavens, And his head reaches to the clouds, Yet he will perish forever like his own refuse; Those who have seen him will say, where is he? He will fly away like a dream, and not be found.
