Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O ye my friends; for the hand of God hath touched me.
I sat not in the assembly of the mockers, nor rejoiced; I sat alone because of thy hand: for thou hast filled me with indignation.
Why is my pain perpetual, and my wound incurable, which refuseth to be healed? wilt thou be altogether unto me as a liar, and as waters that fail?
Wherefore came I forth out of the womb to see labour and sorrow, that my days should be consumed with shame?
Behold the day, behold, it is come: the morning is gone forth; the rod hath blossomed, pride hath budded.