1 Job complaineth and curseth the day of his birth. 11 He desireth to dye, as though death were the end of all man’s misery.
2.And Job cryed out, and said,
6.Let darkness possesse that night, let it not be joined unto the dayes of the yere, nor let it come into the count of the moneths.
7.Yea, desolate be that night, and let no joye be in it.
10.Because it shut not up the dores of my mother’s womb: nor hid sorowe from mine eyes.
12.Why did the knees prevent me? and why did I sucke the breasts?
15.Or with the princes that had golde, and have filled their houses with silver.
16.Or why was I not hid, as an untimely birth, ether as infants, which have not seen the light?
19.There are small and great, and the servant is fre from his master.
21.Which long for death, and if it come not, they wolde even search it more then treasures:
22.Which joye for gladnes and rejoyce, when they can find the grave.
24.For my sighing cometh before I eat, and my rorings are powred out like the water.