And Jehovah saith unto the Adversary, 'Hast thou set thy heart unto My servant Job because there is none like him in the land, a man perfect and upright, fearing God and turning aside from evil? and still he is keeping hold on his integrity, and thou dost move Me against him to swallow him up for nought!'

And the Adversary goeth forth from the presence of Jehovah, and smiteth Job with a sore ulcer from the sole of his foot unto his crown.

Why giveth He to the miserable light, and life to the bitter soul?

My soul is refusing to touch! They are as my sickening food.

Also I -- I withhold not my mouth -- I speak in the distress of my spirit, I talk in the bitterness of my soul.

And my soul chooseth strangling, Death rather than my bones.

How long dost Thou not look from me? Thou dost not desist till I swallow my spittle.

Perfect I am! -- I know not my soul, I despise my life.

My soul hath been weary of my life, I leave off my talking to myself, I speak in the bitterness of my soul.

And the eyes of the wicked are consumed, And refuge hath perished from them, And their hope is a breathing out of soul!

Wherefore do I take my flesh in my teeth? And my soul put in my hand?

Lo, He doth slay me -- I wait not! Only, my ways unto His face I argue.

Only -- his flesh for him is pained, And his soul for him doth mourn.'

I also, like you, might speak, If your soul were in my soul's stead. I might join against you with words, And nod at you with my head.

Till when do ye afflict my soul, And bruise me with words?

Gall of asps he sucketh, Slay him doth the tongue of a viper.

And this one dieth with a bitter soul, And have not eaten with gladness.

And He is in one mind, And who doth turn Him back? And His soul hath desired -- and He doth it.

Because of enmity men do groan, And the soul of pierced ones doth cry, And God doth not give praise.

At the light doth the murderer rise, He doth slay the poor and needy, And in the night he is as a thief.

God liveth! He turned aside my judgment, And the Mighty -- He made my soul bitter.

For what is the hope of the profane, When He doth cut off? When God doth cast off his soul?

And now, in me my soul poureth itself out, Seize me do days of affliction.

Did not I weep for him whose day is hard? Grieved hath my soul for the needy.

He keepeth back his soul from corruption, And his life from passing away by a dart.

And his life hath nauseated bread, And his soul desirable food.

And draw near to the pit doth his soul, And his life to those causing death.

He hath ransomed my soul From going over into the pit, And my life on the light looketh.'

To bring back his soul from the pit, To be enlightened with the light of the living.

Their soul dieth in youth, And their life among the defiled.

It turneth itself as clay of a seal And they station themselves as clothed.

A pride -- strong ones of shields, Shut up -- a close seal.