Job 7

Great(i) 1 Hath man any certayn tyme vpon earthe? Are not hys dayes also lyke the dayes of an hyred seruaunt? 2 For lyke as a bonde seruaunt desyreth the shadowe, and as an hyrelynge wolde fayne haue an ende of hys worcke. 3 Euen so haue I laboured whole monethes longe (but in vayne) and many a carefull night haue I tolde. 4 When I laye me downe to slepe, I saye: O when shall I rise? Agayne, I longed sore for the nyght. And in the meane tyme am I full of sorowes vntyll the twylyght. 5 My flesh is clothed with wormes and dust of the earth: my skynne is withered, and become horryble, 6 my dayes passe ouer more spedely, then a weeuer can weeue out his webbe: and are gone or I am aware. 7 O remembre, that my lyfe is but a mynde, and that myne eye shall nomore se pleasures therof, 8 yee, & that none other mens eye shall se me eny more. For yf thou fasten thyne eye vpon me, I come to naught. 9 The cloude is consumed and vanysshed awaye, euen so he that goeth downe to the graue, shall come nomore vp, 10 ner turne agayne into hys house nether shall hys place knowe hym eny more. 11 Therfore, I will not spare my mouth, but wyll speake in the trouble of my sprete, and muse in the bytternesse of my mynde. 12 Am I a see or a whalfysh, that thou kepest me so in preson? 13 When I saye: my bedd shall comforte me. I shall haue some refresshynge by talcking to my selfe vpon my couche. 14 Then troublest thou me with dreames, and makest me so afrayed thorow visions, 15 that my soule wissheth rather to perish and dye, then my bones to remayne. 16 I can se no remedy, I shall lyue nomore: O spare me then, for my dayes are but vayne. 17 What is man, that thou hast hym in soch reputacyon, & settest somoch by hym? 18 Thou visytest hym early, and euery daye, sodenly doest thou trye hym. 19 Why goest thou not fro me, ner lettest me alone, so longe tyll I maye swalow downe my spetle? 20 I haue offended, and what shall I do vnto the, O thou preseruer of men? Why hast thou made me to stande in thy waye, and am so heuy a burden vnto my self? 21 Why doest thou not forgeue me my synne? Wherfore takest thou not awaye my wyckednes? Beholde, now must I slepe in the dust, and yf thou sekest me to morow in the mornyng, I shalbe gone.