The plowers plowed on my back. They made their furrows long.
Can you hold the wild ox in the furrow with his harness? Or will he till the valleys after you?
*As when one plows and breaks up the earth, our bones are scattered at the mouth of She'ol.*
I gave my back to the strikers, and my cheeks to those who plucked off the hair; I didn't hide my face from shame and spitting.
and I will put it into the hand of those who afflict you, who have said to your soul, Bow down, that we may go over; and you have laid your back as the ground, and as the street, to those who go over.