Job · Chapter 3

[ edit] Aftir þeſe þingus Job openede his mouþ, and curſide to his dai, and ſeide, Perſhe þe dai in þe whiche I am born, and þe nyȝt in þe whiche it is ſeid, A man is conceyued. Þat dai be turned in to dercneſſis; God ſeche it not from aboue, and be it not in recording, ne be it liȝtid wiþ liȝt. Dercneſſes dercne it, and þe ſhadewe of deþ ocupie it in dercneſſe; and be it wiþ inne wrappid wiþ bitterneſſe. A derc whirlewind welde þat nyȝt; and be it not countid in þe daȝes of þe ȝer, ne noumbrid in moneþis. Be þat nyȝt ſolitarie, and not preiſe wrþi. Curſe þei to it, þat curſen to þe dai, þat ben redi to rere Leuieþan.

Þe ſterris be þei derkid wiþ þe dercneſſe of it; abide it liȝt, and ſe not, ne þe ſpringing of þe riſende morwetid. For it cloſide not þe doris of þe wombe, þat bar me, ne toc awei euelis fro myn eyen. Whi not in þe wombe I am dead? gon out of þe wombe not anoon I perſhide? Whi taken out of þe knes? whi ſoukid þe tetis? Now forſoþe ſlepende I ſholde holde my pes, and wiþ my ſlep reſten, wiþ kingus and counſeileris of þe erþe, þat bilden to hem ſolitarie dwellingus; or wiþ princis þat welde gold, and fulfillen þer houſis wiþ ſiluer; or as abortif hid I ſhulde not abide, or þat conceyued ſeȝen not liȝt. Þere vnpitous men ceſiden fro noiſe, and þere reſteden þe wery in ſtrengþe.

And ſum time togidere ioyned wiþoute gref þei herden not þe vois of þe aſkere wiþ ſtrif. Litil and gret þer ben, and ſeruaunt and fre man fro þer lord. Whi to þe wrecche is ȝiue liȝt, and lif to hem þat ben in bitterneſſe of ſoule? Þe whiche abiden deþ, and comeþ not; as men deluende out treſor and ioȝen hugely, whan þei finde þe ſepulcre? To þe man whos weie is hid, and God haþ cumpaſſid hym wiþ dercneſſis? Er I ſhul ete, I ſiȝhe; and as of flowende water, ſo my roring. For þe drede, þat I dradde, ys ful out come to me; and þat I ſhamede of, is falle. Wheþer I feynede not? wheþer I heeld not my pes? wheþer I reſtide not? and þer is comen vp on me indignacioun.