I t is sharpened to make a sore slaughter; it is furbished that it may glitter: should we then make mirth? it contemneth the rod of my son, as every tree.
سُنَّ للِذَّبحِ، وَصُقِلَ حَتَّى صارَ يَلمَعُ كَالبَرقِ. يا بُنَيَّ، لَقَدْ هَرَبْتَ مِنْ عَصا عِقابِي، رَفَضْتَ العِقابَ بِتِلكَ العَصا الخَشَبِيَّةِ!
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