The plowers plowed my back; they made their furrows long.
Can you bind the wild ox to a furrow with its rope, will it till the valleys, following after you?
As when one plows and breaks up the soil, so our bones are scattered at the mouth of Sheol.
I offered my back to those who attacked, my jaws to those who tore out my beard; I did not hide my face from insults and spitting.
I will put it into the hand of your tormentors who said to you, ‘Lie down, so we can walk over you.’ You made your back like the ground, and like the street for those who walked over you.”