^{1 Ref} And now, laughed at me, Have the younger in days than I, Whose fathers I have loathed to set With the dogs of my flock.

² Also -- the power of their hands, why `is it' to me? On them hath old age perished.

^{3 Ref} With want and with famine gloomy, Those fleeing to a dry place, Formerly a desolation and waste,

^{4 Ref} Those cropping mallows near a shrub, And broom-roots `is' their food.

^{5 Ref} From the midst they are cast out, (They shout against them as a thief),

^{6 Ref} In a frightful place of valleys to dwell, Holes of earth and clefts.

^{7 Ref} Among shrubs they do groan, Under nettles they are gathered together.

^{8 Ref} Sons of folly -- even sons without name, They have been smitten from the land.

^{9 Ref} And now, their song I have been, And I am to them for a byword.

^{10 Ref} They have abominated me, They have kept far from me, And from before me have not spared to spit.