19 Thy sorrow is not privy, thy wound is worst; all men that heard thine hearing pressed together hand on thee, for on whom passed not thy malice evermore? (Thy sorrow shall never be assuaged, thy wound is the very worst it could be; all those who heard of thy news, or of thy fate, clapped their hands for joy over thee, for upon whom did not fall thy unceasing malice?)
19
Nothing can heal you; your wound is fatal. All who hear the news about you clap their hands at your fall, for who has not felt your endless cruelty?