Job 6:11 Cross References - Coverdale

¹¹ What power haue I to endure? Or? what is myne ende, that my soule might be paciet?

⁵ My flesh is clothed with wormes, fylthinesse and dust: my skynne is wythered, and crompled together: ⁶ my dayes passe ouer more spedely, the a weeuer can weeue out his webbe, and are gone, or I am awarre. ⁷ O remembre, that my life is but a wynde, ad that myne eye shal nomore se the pleasures

²⁰ Shall not my short life come soone to an ende? O holde the fro me, let me alone, that I maye ease myself a litle:

²⁵ Wilt thou be so cruell & extreme vnto a flyenge leaf, and folowe vpon drye stubble?

²⁸ where as I (notwithstondinge) must consume like as a foule carion, and as a cloth that is moth eaten.

¹ My breth fayleth, my dayes are shortened, I am harde at deathes dore.

¹⁴ I call corrupcion my father, and the wormes call I my mother and my sister. ¹⁵ What helpeth then my longe tarienge? Or, who wil fulfill the thinge, that I loke for? ¹⁶ All that I haue, shall go downe in to the pytt, & lye with me in the dust.

⁴ Is it with a man, that I make this disputacio? Which yf it were so, shulde not my sprete be the in sore trouble?

⁵ LORDE, let me knowe myne ende, and the nombre of my dayes: that I maye be certified what I wante.

⁵ As soone as thou scatrest them, they are euen as a slepe, and fade awaye sodenly like the grasse. ⁶ In the mornynge it is grene and groweth vp, but in the euenynge it is cutt downe and wythered. ⁷ For we consume awaye in thy displeasure, and are afrayed at thy wrothfull indignacion. ⁸ Thou settest oure mi?dedes before the, and oure secrete synnes in the light of thy countenaunce. ⁹ For when thou art angrie, all or dayes are gone, we brynge or yeares to an ende, as it were a tayle that is tolde. ¹⁰ The dayes of oure age are iij. score yeares & ten: & though men be so stronge that they come to iiij. score yeares, yet is their strength then but laboure and sorowe: so soone passeth it awaye, & we are gone.

²³ He hath brought downe my strength in my iourney, and shortened my dayes.

¹⁴ For he knoweth wherof we be made, he remembreth that we are but dust. ¹⁵ That a man in his tyme is but as is grasse, & florisheth as a floure of the felde. ¹⁶ For as soone as the wynde goeth ouer it, it gone, and the place therof knoweth it nomore.