CLV(i)
1 Yet now they make sport of me, Men junior to me in days, Whose fathers I would have rejected To set with the dogs of my flock.
2 Even the vigor of their hands, what was that to me? Their strength had entirely perished.
3 In lack and in stark starvation They were gnawing on growth of arid places, Yesternight's ruination and wasteness.
4 They were plucking the orach among the shrubs, And the root of the broom was their bread.
5 From society they were driven out; Men shouted after them as after a thief.
6 In the craters of the watercourses they tabernacled, In holes of dirt and caverns.
7 Among the shrubs they brayed; Under the prickly acanthus they were huddled together.
8 Sons of decadence, even sons of those without a name, They were cut off from the land.
9 And now I have become their musical accompaniment, And I have become a mocking declaration of theirs.
10 They abhor me; they keep far from me, Yet they do not keep back their spit from my face.