Job 10

Matthew(i) 1 it greueth my soule to lyue. Neuerthelesse, nowe wyll I put forth my wordes: I will speake out of the very heuinesse of my soule, 2 and wyl saye vnto God: O do not condempne me, but shewe me the cause, wherfore thou iudgeste me on thys maner. 3 Thynkeste thou it well done, to oppresse me, to caste me of (beinge a worke of thy handes) and to manteyne the councell of the vngodly? 4 Hast thou fleshye eyes then, or doest thou loke as man loketh? 5 Are thy dayes as the dayes of man, and thy yeares as mans yeares? 6 that thou makest suche inquisicion for my wyckednesse, and searchest out my synne? 7 where as (notwithstandynge) thou knowest that I am no wycked person, and that there is no man able to delyuer me out of thyne hande. 8 Thy handes haue made me, and fashoned me altogether roundabout wilt thou then destroye my sodenlye? 9 O remembre (I beseke the) how that thou madest me of the mould of the earth, and shalt bring me to earth agayne. 10 Hast thou not milked me, as it were milck: and turned me to cruddes lyke chese? 11 Thou hast couered me wyth skynne and fleshe, and ioyned me together wyth bones & synowes. 12 Thou hast graunted me life, & done me good and the diligent hede that thou tokeste vpon me, hath preserued my sprite. 13 Though thou hidest these thinges in thine hert, yet am I sure, that thou remembrest them all. 14 Wherfore dydest thou kepe me, when I synned, and haste not clensed me from myne offence? 15 Yf I do wickedlye, wo is me therfore: Yf I be righteous, yet darre I not lyfte vp my heade: so full am I of confusion, and se myne owne mysery. 16 Thou huntest me out (being in heuynesse) as it were a Lyon, and troubleste me oute of measure. 17 Thou bringeste fresh wytnesses against me, thy wrath increaseste thou vpon me, very many are the plages that I am in. 18 Wherfore hast thou broughte me oute of my mothers wombe? O that I had peryshed, and that no eye had sene me. 19 Yf they had caryed me to my graue, as sone as I was borne, then shoulde I be nowe, as though I had neuer bene. 20 Shall not my shorte lyfe come sone to an ende? O holde the from, let me alone, that I maye ease my self a lytle 21 afore I go thether, from whence I shall not turne agayne. Namely, to that lande of darcknesse & shadowe of death: 22 ye into that darck clowdy lande & deadly shadow, where as is no ordre, but terrible feare as in the darcknesse.