Job · Chapter 7

[ edit] Kniȝþod is þe lif of man vpon erþe, and as þe daȝes of an hirid man, þe daȝis of hym. As an hert deſireþ ſhadewe, and as an hirid man abideþ þe ende of his werc; ſo and I hadde voide moneþis, and trauailous nyȝtis I noumbride out to me. If I ſhul ſlepen, I ſhal ſey, Whanne ſhal I riſe? and eft I ſhal abide þe euetid, and I ſhal be fulfild wiþ ſorewis vnto dercneſſis. My fleſh is clad wiþ roting, and wiþ filþis of pouder; my fel driede, and is drawen togidere. My daȝes ſwiftliere paſſiden þan of þe weuere þe web is kut of; and þei ben waſtid wiþoute any hope. Haue mynde, for wind is my lif, and myn eȝe ſhal not be turned aȝeen, þat I ſee goodis.

Ne þe ſiȝte of man ſhal beholde me; but þin eȝen in me, and I ſhal not ſtonden. As a cloude is waſtid, and paſſeþ, ſo þat goþ doun to helle, ſhal not ſteȝen vp; ne ſhal turne aȝeen more in to his hous, ne his place ſhal more ouer knowen hym. Wherfore and I ſhal not ſpare to my mouþ; I ſhal ſpeke in þe tribulacioun of my ſpirit, and I ſhal talke wiþ þe bitterneſſe of my ſoule. Wheþer am I þe ſe, or a whal, for ȝee han enuyround me wiþ a priſoun? If I ſhal ſeyn, My bed ſhal coumforte me, and I ſhal be releued ſpekende wiþ me in my bed; þou ſhalt fere me bi ſweuenys, and bi viſeouns; þurȝ orrour þou ſhalt ſmyte me to gidere. Wherfore my ſoule ches hangyng vp, and my bones deþ.

I deſpeirede, now I ſhal no mor liue; ſpare to me, Lord, no þing forſoþe ben my daȝes. What is a man, for þou magnefieſt hym? or what þou ſettis to aȝen hym þin herte? Þou viſitiſt hym þe morutid, and feerli þou proueſt hym. Hou longe þou ſpariſt not to me, ne letiſt me, þat I ſwolewe my ſpotele? I haue ſynned; what ſhal I don to þee, O! kepere of men? Whi haſt þou put me contrarie to þee, and am maad to myſelf heuy? Whi takiſt þou not awei my ſynne, and whi doſt þou not awei my wickidneſſe? Lo! nowe in pouder I ſlepe, and if erli þou ſeche me, I ſhal not ſtonde ſtille.