Doth the papyrus shoot up without mire? doth the reed-grass grow without water?

yet shouldest thou dip me in the mire, and mine own clothes should defile me.

Your memorable sayings are proverbs of ashes, your bulwarks are bulwarks of mire.

Casting me into mire, And I am become like dust and ashes.

cast them down into the mire, and cover their faces with darkness;

Under shades he lieth down, In a secret place of reed and mire.

Under him are sharp points of clay, He spreadeth gold on the mire.