These are spots in your feasts of charity, when they feast with you, feeding themselves without fear: clouds they are without water, carried about of winds; trees whose fruit withereth, without fruit, twice dead, plucked up by the roots;
Гэта аблокі бязводныя, што вецер ганяе, гэта восеньскія дрэвы, бясплодныя, цалкам засохлыя і выкаранёныя,