Job 30:1-15

But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, Whose fathers I disdained to set with the dogs of my flock. Yea, the strength of their hands, whereto should it profit me? Men in whom ripe age is perished. They are gaunt with want and famine; They gnaw the dry ground, in the gloom of wasteness and desolation. They pluck salt-wort by the bushes; And the roots of the broom are their food. They are driven forth from the midst of men; They cry after them as after a thief; So that they dwell in frightful valleys, In holes of the earth and of the rocks. Among the bushes they bray; Under the nettles they are gathered together. They are children of fools, yea, children of base men; They were scourged out of the land. And now I am become their song, Yea, I am a byword unto them. They abhor me, they stand aloof from me, And spare not to spit in my face. For he hath loosed his cord, and afflicted me; And they have cast off the bridle before me. Upon my right hand rise the rabble; They thrust aside my feet, And they cast up against me their ways of destruction. They mar my path, They set forward my calamity, Even men that have no helper. As through a wide breach they come: In the midst of the ruin they roll themselves upon me. Terrors are turned upon me; They chase mine honor as the wind; And my welfare is passed away as a cloud.