Job, Chapter 16

Then Iob: How long wilt thou thus vexe mine eares!
You all are miserable Comforters.
Shall this vaine wind of words, ah! never end?
Why Eliphas should'st thou afflict thy Friend?
Were you so lost in griefe, would I thus speake?
Such bruised hearts with harshinvectives breake?
Would I accumulate your Miseries
With Scorne? and draw new Rivers from your Eyes?
Oh no, my language should your passions calme:
My words should drop into your wounds like balme.
But oh my frantick Sorrow finds no ease?
Complaints nor silence can their pangs appease!
Thou Lord hast my perplexed Soule deprest;
Bereft of all the comforts shee possest:
My Face thus furrowed with untimely age;
My pale and meagre lookes professe thy rage.
Whose Ministers, like cunning foes, surprise;
Teare with theirteeth, transfix me with their eyes;
Against my peace combine: at once assaile.
With open mouthes, and impudently raile.
God hath deliver'd me into their Jawes
Who hunt for spoile, and make their swords their Lawes.
Long saild I on smooth Seas, by fore-winds borne:
Now bulg'd on rocks, and by his Tempests torne.
He by the Neck hath hal'd, in pieces cut;
And set me as a marke on every Butt.
His Archers circle me; my reines they wound,
And, ruthlesse, shed my gall upon the ground.
Behold! he ruines upon ruines heaps:
And on me like a furious Giant leaps.
For thus with sackcloth I invest my Woe:
And dust upon my clouded forehead throw.
My cheeks are guttered with my fretting teares:
And on my falling Eye-lids Death appeares.
Yet is my heart upright, my prayers sincere;
My guiltlesse Life from your aspersions cleare.
Reveale, oh Earth, the Blood that I have spilt:
Nor heare me, Heaven, if I be soil'd with guilt.
My conscience knowes her owne Integritie:
And that all-seeing Power inthron'd on high.
Yet you traduce me in my Miseries:
But I to God erect my weeping Eyes.
Would I before him might my cause defend;
And argue as a mortall with his friend:
Since I ere long that precipice must tread,
Whence none returne, that leads unto the Dead.