Job, Chapter 13

Downe to my heart: and in that Closet laid.
Need I in depth of knowledge yeild to you?
Is not as much to my discretion due?
Oh that th' All-seeing Judge, who cannot erre,
Would heare me plead; and with a wretch conferre!
You Corrasives into my wounds distill:
And ignorant' Artists, with your physick kill.
Ah! shame you not to vent such forgeries?
Seale up your lips and be in silence wise.
And since you are by farre more fit to heare,
Then to instruct; afford my tongue an eare.
Oh will you wickedly for God dispute?
And by deceitfull wayes strive to confute?
Are you, in favour of his person, bent
Thus to prejudicate the Innocent?
Need's he an Advocate to plead his Cause?
To justifie untruth's against his Lawes?
Can you on him such falsities obtrude?
And as a Mortall the most wise delude?
Will it availe you, when he shall remove.
Your painted vizors? will not he reprove,
And sharply punish; if in secret you,
For favour, or reward, Injustice doe?
Shall not his Excellence your Soules affright?
His Horrors on your heads like Thunder light?
Your memories to ashes must decay:
And your fraile bodies are but built of clay.
Forbeare to speake, till my Conceptions shall
Discharge their Birth; then let what will befall.
Why should I teare my flesh? cast of the care
Of future life? and languish in despaire?
Though God should kill me, I my confidence
On him would fixe; nor quit my owne defence.
He shall restore me by his saving might:
Nor shall the Hypocrite approach his sight.
Give me your eares, Oh you who were my Friends;
While injur'd Innocence it selfe defends,
I am prepar'd, and wish my Cause were try'd:
In full assurance to be justifi'd.
Begin; who will accuse? should I not speake
In such a truth, my heart with griefe would breake.
Just Judge, two lets remove: that free from dread,
I may before thy high Tribunall plead.
Oh let these torments from my flesh depart;
Nor with thy terrors daunt my trembling heart:
Then charge: so I my life may justifie:
And to my just complaint doe thou reply.
What Sinnes are those that so pollute my brest:
Oh shew how oft I have thy Lawes transgrest?
Wilt thou thy Servant of thy sight deprive,
And as an Enemy to Ruine drive?
Wilt thou a withered leafe to powder grind?
Tost in the aire by every breath of wind:
Or with thy Lightning into Ashes turne
Such worthlesse Stubble? only dry'd to burne.
Thou hast indited me of bitter Crimes:
Now punisht, for the faults of former times.
Lo! my restrained feet thy fetters wound;
Watcht with a Guard, and rooted in the ground.
Like rotten fruit I fall: worne like a cloth
Gnawne into rags by the devouring Moth.