Job 7

1The life of man upon earth is a warfare, and his days are like the days of a hireling.

Militia est vita hominis super terram, et sicut dies mercenarii dies ejus.

2As a servant longeth for the shade, as the hireling looketh for the end of his work;

Sicut servus desiderat umbram, et sicut mercenarius præstolatur finem operis sui,

3So I also have had empty months, and have numbered to myself wearisome nights.

sic et ego habui menses vacuos, et noctes laboriosas enumeravi mihi.

4If I lie down to sleep, I shall say: When shall I rise? and again, I shall look for the evening, and shall be filled with sorrows even till darkness.

Si dormiero, dicam: Quando consurgam? et rursum expectabo vesperam, et replebor doloribus usque ad tenebras.

5My flesh is clothed with rottenness and the filth of dust; my skin is withered and drawn together.

Induta est caro mea putredine, et sordibus pulveris cutis mea aruit et contracta est.

6My days have passed more swiftly than the web is cut by the weaver, and are consumed without any hope.

Dies mei velocius transierunt quam a texente tela succiditur, et consumpti sunt absque ulla spe.

7Remember that my life is but wind, and my eye shall not return to see good things.

Memento quia ventus est vita mea, et non revertetur oculus meus ut videat bona.

8Nor shall the sight of man behold me: thy eyes are upon me, and I shall be no more.

Nec aspiciet me visus hominis; oculi tui in me, et non subsistam.

9As a cloud is consumed, and passeth away: so he that shall go down to hell shall not come up.

Sicut consumitur nubes, et pertransit, sic qui descenderit ad inferos, non ascendet.

10Nor shall he return any more into his house, neither shall his place know him any more.

Nec revertetur ultra in domum suam, neque cognoscet eum amplius locus ejus.

11Wherefore, I will not spare my month, I will speak in the affliction of my spirit: I will talk with the bitterness of my soul.

Quapropter et ego non parcam ori meo: loquar in tribulatione spiritus mei; confabulabor cum amaritudine animæ meæ.

12Am I a sea, or a whale, that thou hast enclosed me in a prison?

Numquid mare ego sum, aut cetus, quia circumdedisti me carcere?

13If I say: My bed shall comfort me, and I shall be relieved, speaking with myself on my couch:

Si dixero: Consolabitur me lectulus meus, et relevabor loquens mecum in strato meo:

14Thou wilt frighten me with dreams, and terrify me with visions.

terrebis me per somnia, et per visiones horrore concuties.

15So that my soul rather chooseth hanging, and my bones death.

Quam ob rem elegit suspendium anima mea, et mortem ossa mea.

16I have done with hope, I shall now live no longer: spare me, for my days are nothing.

Desperavi: nequaquam ultra jam vivam: parce mihi, nihil enim sunt dies mei.

17What is a man, that thou shouldst magnify him or why dost thou set thy heart upon him?

Quid est homo, quia magnificas eum? aut quid apponis erga eum cor tuum?

18Thou visitest him early in the morning, and thou provest him suddenly.

Visitas eum diluculo, et subito probas illum.

19How long wilt thou not spare me, nor suffer me to swallow down my spittle?

Usquequo non parcis mihi, nec dimittis me ut glutiam salivam meam?

20I have sinned: what shall I do to thee, O keeper of men? why hast thou set me opposite to thee, and am I become burdensome to myself?

Peccavi; quid faciam tibi, o custos hominum? quare posuisti me contrarium tibi, et factus sum mihimetipsi gravis?

21Why dost thou not remove my sin, and why dost thou not take away my iniquity? Behold now I shall sleep in the dust: and if thou seek me in the morning, I shall not be.

Cur non tollis peccatum meum, et quare non aufers iniquitatem meam? ecce nunc in pulvere dormiam, et si mane me quæsieris, non subsistam.