Will Yahweh, be pleased, with thousands of rams? with myriads of torrents of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression? the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?

Alas for me! for I am become as gatherings of summer fruit, as gleaning-grapes in harvest, there is no cluster to eat, the first ripe fruit, my soul, craved.

Of wickedness with both hands to make sure, the ruler, doth make demand - and the judge - for a recompense, - and, as for the great man, he, is putting into words the desire of his soul, So have they woven the net!