Job 10
1 Yt anoieth my soule of my lijf; Y schal lete my speche ayens me, Y schal speke in the bitternesse of my soule.
My soul is tired of life; I will let my sad thoughts go free in words; my soul will make a bitter outcry.
2 Y schal seie to God, Nyle thou condempne me; schewe thou to me, whi thou demest me so.
I will say to God, Do not put me down as a sinner; make clear to me what you have against me.
3 Whether it semeth good to thee, if thou `falsli chalengist and oppressist me, the werk of thin hondis; and if thou helpist the counsel of wickid men?
What profit is it to you to be cruel, to give up the work of your hands, looking kindly on the design of evil-doers?
4 Whethir fleischli iyen ben to thee, ethir, as a man seeth, also thou schalt se?
Have you eyes of flesh, or do you see as man sees?
5 Whether thi daies ben as the daies of man, and `thi yeeris ben as mannus tymes;
Are your days as the days of man, or your years like his,
6 that thou enquere my wickidnesse, and enserche my synne?
That you take note of my sin, searching after my wrongdoing,
7 And wite, that Y haue do no `wickid thing; sithen no man is, that may delyuere fro thin hond?
Though you see that I am not an evil-doer; and there is no one who is able to take a man out of your hands?
8 Thin hondis han maad me, and han formed me al in cumpas; and thou castist me doun so sodeynli.
Your hands made me, and I was formed by you, but then, changing your purpose, you gave me up to destruction.
9 Y preye, haue thou mynde, that thou madist me as cley, and schalt brynge me ayen in to dust.
O keep in mind that you made me out of earth; and will you send me back again to dust?
10 Whether thou hast not mylkid me as mylk, and hast cruddid me togidere as cheese?
Was I not drained out like milk, becoming hard like cheese?
11 Thou clothidist me with skyn and fleisch; thou hast ioyned me togidere with boonys and senewis.
By you I was clothed with skin and flesh, and joined together with bones and muscles.
12 Thou hast youe lijf and mercy to me, and thi visiting hath kept my spirit.
You have been kind to me, and your grace has been with me, and your care has kept my spirit safe.
13 Thouy thou helist these thingis in thin herte, netheles Y woot, that thou hast mynde of alle thingis.
But you kept these things in the secret of your heart; I am certain this was in your thoughts:
14 If Y dide synne, and thou sparidist me at an our; whi suffrist thou not me to be cleene of my wickidnesse?
That, if I did wrong, you would take note of it, and would not make me clear from sin:
15 And if Y was wickid, wo is to me; and if Y was iust, Y fillid with turment and wretchidnesse `schal not reise the heed.
That, if I was an evil-doer, the curse would come on me; and if I was upright, my head would not be lifted up, being full of shame and overcome with trouble.
16 And if Y reise `the heed for pride, thou schalt take me as a lionesse; and thou turnest ayen, and turmentist me wondirli.
And that if there was cause for pride, you would go after me like a lion; and again put out your wonders against me:
17 Thou gaderist in store thi witnessis ayens me, and thou multipliest thin yre, `that is, veniaunce, ayens me; and peynes holden knyythod in me.
That you would send new witnesses against me, increasing your wrath against me, and letting loose new armies on me.
18 Whi hast thou led me out of the wombe? `And Y wolde, that Y were wastid, lest an iye `schulde se me.
Why then did you make me come out of my mother's body? It would have been better for me to have taken my last breath, and for no eye to have seen me,
19 That Y hadde be, as if Y were not, and `were translatid, ethir borun ouer, fro the wombe to the sepulcre.
And for me to have been as if I had not been; to have been taken from my mother's body straight to my last resting-place.
20 Whether the fewnesse of my daies schal not be endid in schort? Therfor suffre thou me, that Y biweile `a litil my sorewe,
Are not the days of my life small in number? Let your eyes be turned away from me, so that I may have a little pleasure,
21 bifor that Y go, and turne not ayen, to the derk lond, and hilid with the derknesse of deth, to the lond of wrecchidnesse and of derknessis;
Before I go to the place from which I will not come back, to the land where all is dark and black,
22 where is schadewe of deeth, and noon ordre, but euerlastynge hidousnesse dwellith.
A land of thick dark, without order, where the very light is dark.
