Wilt thou break a leaf driven to and fro? And wilt thou pursue the dry stubble? For thou writest bitter things against me, And makest me to possess the iniquities of my youth. Thou puttest my feet also in the stocks, And lookest narrowly unto all my paths; Thou settest a print upon the heels of my feet. And he, as a rotten thing, consumeth, As a garment that is moth eaten.
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