Job, Chapter 30

O bitter change! now Boyes my grones deride;
The wretched object of their scorne and pride:
Whose Fathers I unworthy held to keepe,
With lesse contemned Dogs, my Flocks of sheepe.
How could their youth to my advantage turne?
Or elder age, with weakning vices worne?
Who, pale with famine, to the Desert fled;
On roots of Juniper and Mallowes fed:
Whom Men from their Societie exclude;
Detested, and like Theeves with cryes pursu'd:
Conceal'd in hollow Rocks, in gloomy Caves,
And Cliffes deepe vaulted by the fretting waves:
Among the Bushes they like Asses braide:
And in the Brakes their Conventicles made.
The Sonnes of Idiots, of ignoble Birth:
Contaminate, and viler then the Earth.
Yet now am I obnoxious to their wrongs:
A By-word, and the Subject of their song's.
Who exercise their tongues in my disgrace;
Abhorre my paths, and spit upon my face.
They, ever since the inrag'd omnipotent
Dissolv'd my Sinewes, and my Bowunbent;
Like head-strong Horses, twixt their teeth have tane
The masterd Bridle, and contemn'd the reyne.
Lo, Boyes against me rise, and strow my way
With Snares; then watch the cruell traps they lay:
Who now my path's pervert; their hate extend
To multiply his woes, that hath no friend.
As Seas against the Shores strong Rampires stretch
Their battering waves, and force a dreadfull breach:
With equall fury they upon me roule;
Even to the desolation of my soule.
Besieging Terrors storme-like roare aloud;
Pursue, and chase me like an emptie Cloud.
O how my soule is powr'd upon the ground!
Full growne Affliction hath a subject found.
Torments by Night my wasted marrow boyle:
My Pulses labour with unequall toyle.
My soares pollute my garments: Plagues infest
My poysoned skin, and like a Coat invest.
O I am Dust and Ashes! Lord, thou hast
Downe in the durt the broken-hearted cast.
Thy eares the incense of my prayers reject:
No teares nor vowes can alter thy neglect.
Ah! hast thou lost thy mercy! Wilt thou fight
Against a worme, and in his groanes delight!
Thou setst me on the winds; with every blast
Tost too and fro, while I to nothing wast.
I see my Death approach: I to the wombe
Of earth am cal'd, of all the generall Tomb.
Thou never wilt the Dead to Life restore:
Though heere in Sorrow they thy grace implore.
How oft have I for those that suffer'd, wept!
Afflicted for the poore, when others slept:
Yet when I lookt for joy, for cheerefull light;
Then griefe fell on, and shades more blacke than night.
My tortur'd Bowels found no hower of rest:
By troopes of sodaine miseries opprest.
Unknowne to Day, I mourn'd: my clamors tare
The eares soft Labyrinth, and cleft the Aire.
The hissing Dragon, and the screeching Owle,
Became Companions to my pensive Soule.
My flesh is cover'd with a vaile of jet:
And all my Bones consume with burning heat.
My Harp her mournfull Straines in Sorrow steep's.
My Organ sighes sad aires, as one that weepes.