Will Jehovah delight in thousands of rams, in ten thousands of torrents of oil? shall I give my first-born my transgression? the fruit of my belly, the sin of my soul?

Wo to me! for I was as the gatherings of the fruit harvest, as the gleanings of the vintage, no cluster to eat: my soul desired the first ripe fig.

For doing evil with the hands to do well, the chief asking, and the judge, for peace; and the great one, he spake the mischief of his soul: and they will entangle it