Then let my shoulder fall from the shoulder-blade,\par\tab And mine arm be broken from the bone.
Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth,\par\tab If I remember thee not;\par\tab If I prefer not Jerusalem\par\tab Above my chief joy.
And from the wicked their light is withholden,\par\tab And the high arm is broken.\par
Let thistles grow instead of wheat,\par\tab And cockle instead of barley.\par\par\tab The words of Job are ended.
Then let my wife grind unto another,\par\tab And let others bow down upon her.
For calamity from God is a terror to me,\par\tab And by reason of his majesty I can do nothing.\par