Iob answered, & sayde:

How loge wil ye vexe my mynde, & trouble me with wordes?

Lo, ten tymes haue ye reproued me: are ye not ashamed, for to laugh me so to scorne?

yf I go wronge, I go wronge to my self.

But yf ye wil enhaunce yor selues agaynst me, & accuse me to be a wicked personne because of the shame that is come vpon me:

knowe this then, yt it is God, which hath handled me so violetly, & hath compased me aboute with his scourges.

Beholde, though I crie, yet violece is done vnto me, I can not be herde: Though I complane, there is none to geue sentece with me.

He hath hedged vp my path, I ca not get awaye, he hath set darcknesse in my gate.

He hath spoyled me of myne honoure, & taken the crowne awaye fro my heade.

He hath destroyed me on euery syde, and I am vndone: My hope hath he taken awaye fro me, as it were a tre plucte vp by the rote.

His wrath is kyndled agaynst me, he taketh me, as though I were his enemy.

His men of warre came together, which made their waye ouer me, and beseged my dwellinge rounde aboute.

He hath put my brethren farre awaye fro me, and soch as were of myne acquauntaunce, are become straugers vnto me.

Myne owne kyn?folkes haue forsaken me, and my frendes haue put me out of remembraunce.

The seruauntes and maydens of myne owne house take me for a strauger, and I am become as an aleaunt in their sight.

When I call vpon my seruaut, he geueth me no answere: no though I praie him with my mouth.

Myne owne wyfe maye not abyde my breth, I am fayne to speake fayre vnto the children of myne owne body.

Yee the very deserte fooles despyse me, and when I am gone from them, they speake euell vpon me.

All soch as were my most familiers, abhorre me: and they whom I loued best, are turned agaynst me.

My bone hangeth to my skynne, and the flesh is awaye, only there is left me the skynne aboute my teth.

Haue pite vpon me, haue pite vpon me (o ye my frendes) for the hande of the LORDE hath touched me.

Seynge God persecuteth me, wil ye vexe me also? Haue ye not yet ynough of the trouble of my flesh?

O that my wordes were written, O that they were put in a boke:

wolde God they were graue wt an yron pene in leade or in stone.

For I am sure, that my redemer lyueth, and that I shall ryse out of the earth in the latter daye:

that I shal be clothed againe with this skynne, and se God in my flesh.

Yee I my self shal beholde him, not with other but with these same eyes. My reynes are consumed within me,

when yee saye: Why do not we persecute him? we haue founde an occasion agaynst him.

But bewarre of the swearde, for the swearde wylbe avenged of wickednesse, and be sure, that there is a iudgment.