Rotherham(i)
25 A driven leaf, wilt thou cause to tremble? Or, dry stubble, wilt thou pursue?
26 For thou writest, against me, bitter things, and dost make me inherit the iniquities of my youth;
27 And thou dost put––in the stocks––my feet, and observest all my paths, Against the roots of my feet, thou dost cut out a bound;
28 And, a man himself, as a rotten thing, weareth out, as a garment which the moth hath eaten.