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 days are extinct, the graves are ready for me.
2 Y have not synned, and myn iye dwellith in bittirnessis.
Are there not mockers with me? and doth not my eye continue in their provocation?
3 Lord, delyuere thou me, and sette thou me bisidis thee; and the hond of ech fiyte ayens me.
Lay down now, put me in a surety with thee; who is he that will strike hands with me?
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 understanding: therefore shalt thou not exalt them.
5 He bihetith prey to felowis, and the iyen of hise sones schulen faile.
He that speaketh flattery to his friends, even the eyes of his children shall fail.
6 He hath set as in to a prouerbe of the comyn puple, and his saumple bifor hem.
He hath made me also a byword of the people; and as one before whom men spit.
7 Myn `iye dasewide at indignacioun; and my membris ben dryuun as in to nouyt.
My eye also is dim by reason of sorrow, and all my members are as a shadow.
8 Iust men schulen wondre on this thing; and an innocent schal be reisid ayens an ypocrite.
Upright men shall be appalled at this, and the innocent shall stir up himself against the hypocrite.
9 And a iust man schal holde his weie, and he schal adde strengthe to clene hondis.
The righteous also shall hold on his way, and he that hath clean hands shall be stronger and stronger.
10 Therfor alle `ye be conuertid, and come ye; and Y schal not fynde in you ony wiys man.
But as for you all, do ye return, and come now: for I cannot find one wise man among you.
11 My daies ben passid; my thouytis ben scaterid, turmentynge myn herte.
My days are past, my purposes are broken off, even the thoughts of my heart.
12 Tho han turned the nyyt `in to day; and eft aftir derknessis hope liyt.
They change the night into day: the light is short because of darkness.
13 If Y `susteyne, ether suffre pacientli, helle is myn hous; and Y haue arayede my bed in derknessis. (Sheol h7585)
If I wait, the grave is my house: I have made my bed in the darkness. (Sheol h7585)
14 Y seide to rot, Thou art my fadur; and to wormes, Ye ben my modir and my sister.
I have said to corruption, Thou art my father: to the worm, Thou art my mother, and my sister.
15 Therfor where is now myn abidyng? and who biholdith my pacience?
And where is now my hope? as for my hope, who shall see it?
