Job 17
1 My breath is corrupt, my days are extinct, the graves are mine.
Mi spirit schal be maad feble; my daies schulen be maad schort, and oneli the sepulcre is left to me.
2 Are there not mockers around me? and doth [not] mine eye abide in their provocation?
Y have not synned, and myn iye dwellith in bittirnessis.
3 Lay down now [a pledge], be thou surety for me with thyself: who is he that striketh hands with me?
Lord, delyuere thou me, and sette thou me bisidis thee; and the hond of ech fiyte ayens me.
4 For thou hast hidden their heart from understanding; therefore thou wilt not exalt [them].
Thou hast maad the herte of hem fer fro doctryn, `ethir knowyng of treuthe; therfor thei schulen not be enhaunsid.
5 He that betrayeth friends for a prey — even the eyes of his children shall fail.
He bihetith prey to felowis, and the iyen of hise sones schulen faile.
6 And he hath made me a proverb of the peoples; and I am become one to be spit on in the face.
He hath set as in to a prouerbe of the comyn puple, and his saumple bifor hem.
7 And mine eye is dim by reason of grief, and all my members are as a shadow.
Myn `iye dasewide at indignacioun; and my membris ben dryuun as in to nouyt.
8 Upright men [shall be] astonished at this, and the innocent shall be stirred up against the ungodly;
Iust men schulen wondre on this thing; and an innocent schal be reisid ayens an ypocrite.
9 But the righteous shall hold on his way, and he that hath clean hands shall increase in strength.
And a iust man schal holde his weie, and he schal adde strengthe to clene hondis.
10 But as for you all, pray come on again; and I shall not find one wise man among you.
Therfor alle `ye be conuertid, and come ye; and Y schal not fynde in you ony wiys man.
11 My days are past, my purposes are broken off, the cherished thoughts of my heart.
My daies ben passid; my thouytis ben scaterid, turmentynge myn herte.
12 They change the night into day; the light [they imagine] near in presence of the darkness.
Tho han turned the nyyt `in to day; and eft aftir derknessis hope liyt.
If Y `susteyne, ether suffre pacientli, helle is myn hous; and Y haue arayede my bed in derknessis. (Sheol h7585)
14 I cry to the grave, Thou art my father! to the worm, My mother, and my sister!
Y seide to rot, Thou art my fadur; and to wormes, Ye ben my modir and my sister.
15 And where is then my hope? yea, my hope, who shall see it?
Therfor where is now myn abidyng? and who biholdith my pacience?
