Job 10

1 My soul is weary of my life; I will give free course to my complaint; I will speak in the bitterness of my soul.

Yt anoieth my soule of my lijf; Y schal lete my speche ayens me, Y schal speke in the bitternesse of my soule.

2 I will say unto God, Do not condemn me; shew me wherefore thou contendest with me.

Y schal seie to God, Nyle thou condempne me; schewe thou to me, whi thou demest me so.

3 Is it good unto thee that thou shouldest oppress, that thou shouldest despise the work of thine hands, and shine upon the counsel of the wicked?

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?

4 Hast thou eyes of flesh, or seest thou as man seeth?

Whethir fleischli iyen ben to thee, ethir, as a man seeth, also thou schalt se?

5 Are thy days as the days of man, or thy years as man’s days,

Whether thi daies ben as the daies of man, and `thi yeeris ben as mannus tymes;

6 That thou inquirest after mine iniquity, and searchest after my sin,

that thou enquere my wickidnesse, and enserche my synne?

7 Although thou knowest that I am not wicked; and there is none that can deliver out of thine hand?

And wite, that Y haue do no `wickid thing; sithen no man is, that may delyuere fro thin hond?

8 Thine hands have framed me and fashioned me together round about; yet thou dost destroy me.

Thin hondis han maad me, and han formed me al in cumpas; and thou castist me doun so sodeynli.

9 Remember, I beseech thee, that thou hast fashioned me as clay; and wilt thou bring me into dust again?

Y preye, haue thou mynde, that thou madist me as cley, and schalt brynge me ayen in to dust.

10 Hast thou not poured me out as milk, and curdled me like cheese?

Whether thou hast not mylkid me as mylk, and hast cruddid me togidere as cheese?

11 Thou hast clothed me with skin and flesh, and knit me together with bones and sinews.

Thou clothidist me with skyn and fleisch; thou hast ioyned me togidere with boonys and senewis.

12 Thou hast granted me life and favour, and thy visitation hath preserved my spirit.

Thou hast youe lijf and mercy to me, and thi visiting hath kept my spirit.

13 Yet these things thou didst hide in thine heart; I know that this is with thee:

Thouy thou helist these thingis in thin herte, netheles Y woot, that thou hast mynde of alle thingis.

14 If I sin, then thou markest me, and thou wilt not acquit me from mine iniquity.

If Y dide synne, and thou sparidist me at an our; whi suffrist thou not me to be cleene of my wickidnesse?

15 If I be wicked, woe unto me; and if I be righteous, yet shall I not lift up my head; being filled with ignominy and looking upon mine affliction.

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.

16 And if [my head] exalt itself, thou huntest me as a lion: and again thou shewest thyself marvelous upon me.

And if Y reise `the heed for pride, thou schalt take me as a lionesse; and thou turnest ayen, and turmentist me wondirli.

17 Thou renewest thy witnesses against me, and increasest thine indignation upon me; changes and warfare are with me.

Thou gaderist in store thi witnessis ayens me, and thou multipliest thin yre, `that is, veniaunce, ayens me; and peynes holden knyythod in me.

18 Wherefore then hast thou brought me forth out of the womb? I had given up the ghost, and no eye had seen me.

Whi hast thou led me out of the wombe? `And Y wolde, that Y were wastid, lest an iye `schulde se me.

19 I should have been as though I had not been; I should have been carried from the womb to the grave.

That Y hadde be, as if Y were not, and `were translatid, ethir borun ouer, fro the wombe to the sepulcre.

20 Are not my days few? cease then, and let me alone, that I may take comfort a little,

Whether the fewnesse of my daies schal not be endid in schort? Therfor suffre thou me, that Y biweile `a litil my sorewe,

21 Before I go whence I shall not return, [even] to the land of darkness and of the shadow of death;

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;

22 A land of thick darkness, as darkness [itself]; [a land] of the shadow of death, without any order, and where the light is as darkness.

where is schadewe of deeth, and noon ordre, but euerlastynge hidousnesse dwellith.