Job 17
1 Mi spirit schal be maad feble; my daies schulen be maad schort, and oneli the sepulcre is left to me.
My breath is corrupt: my dayes are cut off, and the graue is readie for me.
2 Y have not synned, and myn iye dwellith in bittirnessis.
There are none but mockers with mee, and mine eye continueth in their bitternesse.
3 Lord, delyuere thou me, and sette thou me bisidis thee; and the hond of ech fiyte ayens me.
Lay downe nowe and put me in suretie for thee: who is hee, that will touch mine hand?
4 Thou hast maad the herte of hem fer fro doctryn, `ethir knowyng of treuthe; therfor thei schulen not be enhaunsid.
For thou hast hid their heart from vnderstanding: therefore shalt thou not set them vp on hie.
5 He bihetith prey to felowis, and the iyen of hise sones schulen faile.
For the eyes of his children shall faile, that speaketh flattery to his friends.
6 He hath set as in to a prouerbe of the comyn puple, and his saumple bifor hem.
Hee hath also made mee a byword of the people, and I am as a Tabret before them.
7 Myn `iye dasewide at indignacioun; and my membris ben dryuun as in to nouyt.
Mine eye therefore is dimme for griefe, and all my strength is like a shadowe.
8 Iust men schulen wondre on this thing; and an innocent schal be reisid ayens an ypocrite.
The righteous shalbe astonied at this, and the innocent shalbe moued against ye hypocrite.
9 And a iust man schal holde his weie, and he schal adde strengthe to clene hondis.
But the righteous wil holde his way, and he whose hands are pure, shall increase his strength.
10 Therfor alle `ye be conuertid, and come ye; and Y schal not fynde in you ony wiys man.
All you therefore turne you, and come nowe, and I shall not finde one wise among you.
11 My daies ben passid; my thouytis ben scaterid, turmentynge myn herte.
My dayes are past, mine enterprises are broken, and the thoughts of mine heart
12 Tho han turned the nyyt `in to day; and eft aftir derknessis hope liyt.
Haue changed the nyght for the day, and the light that approched, for darkenesse.
13 If Y `susteyne, ether suffre pacientli, helle is myn hous; and Y haue arayede my bed in derknessis. (Sheol h7585)
Though I hope, yet the graue shall bee mine house, and I shall make my bed in the darke. (Sheol h7585)
14 Y seide to rot, Thou art my fadur; and to wormes, Ye ben my modir and my sister.
I shall say to corruption, Thou art my father, and to the worme, Thou art my mother and my sister.
15 Therfor where is now myn abidyng? and who biholdith my pacience?
Where is then now mine hope? or who shall consider the thing, that I hoped for?
