Job · Chapter 19

[ edit] Anſwerende forſoþe Job ſeide, Hou longe ȝee tormente my lif, and pownen me wiþ woordis? Lo! ten ſiþes ȝee confounde me, and ȝee ſhame not, opreſſende me. Forſoþe if I am vnknowende, wiþ me it ſhal be, myn vnkunnyng. And ȝee aȝen me ben rerid, and vndernyme me wiþ my repreues. Nameli now vnderſtondeþ, for God not wiþ euene dom tormentiþ me, and wiþ his ſcourgis girdiþ me. Lo! I ſhal crie ſufferende fors, and no man ſhal here; I ſhal crien out, and þer is not þat deme. My ſty he heggide aboute, and I mai not gon ouer; and in my paþ he putte dercneſſes. He ſpoilide me my glorie, and he toc awei þe croune fro myn hed.

He deſtroȝide me al aboute, and I perſhe; and as to a pullid vp tree he toc awey myn hope. His wodneſſe is wroþ aȝen me; and ſo me he hadde as his enemy. His þeues camen togidere, and maden to hem a weie bi me; and beſegiden in enuyroun my tabernacle. He made a ferr my breþren fro me; and my knowen as alienes wenten awei fro me. My neȝh men forſoken me; and þat me hadden knowe forȝete me. Þe comelingus of myn hous and myn hond wymen as an alien hadden me; and as a pilgrim I was in þe eȝen of hem. My ſeruaunt I clepide, and he anſwerde not to me; wiþ my propre mouþ I preȝede hym. My wif agriſide my breþ; and I preȝede þe ſones of my wombe.

Foolys alſo deſpiſiden me; and whan I hadde gon awei fro þem, þei bacbiten to me. Sum time my counſeyleris wlateden me; and whom I moſt loouede wiþſtod me. My bon cleuede to my ſkin, þe fleſh waſtid; and onli þe lippis ben lafte aboute my teþ. Haueþ reuþe of me, haueþ reuþe of me, nameli, ȝee my frendis; for þe hond of þe Lord haþ touchid me. Whi purſue ȝee me, as God; and wiþ my fleſh ȝee be fulfild? Who ȝiueþ to me, þat my woordis be writen? Who ȝiueþ to me þat þei be grauen in a boc wiþ an iren pointel, or wiþ a pece of led; or wiþ a chiſell þei be grauen in flint?

Forſoþe I wot, þat myn aȝeenbiere liueþ, and in þe laſte dai I am to riſe fro þe erþe; and eft ſhal ben enuyround wiþ my ſkin, and in my fleſh I ſhal ſe God, my ſauere. Whom I myſelf am to ſeen, and myn eȝen ben to beholden, and noon oþer. Þis myn hope is led vp in my boſum. Whi þanne now ſey ȝee, Purſue wee hym, and þe roote of woord finde wee aȝen hym? Fleeþ þanne fro þe face of ſwerd; for vengere of wickidneſſe is þe ſwerd, and witeþ dom to be.