Those hating me without cause Have been more than the hairs of my head, Mighty have been my destroyers, My lying enemies, That which I took not away — I bring back.
Perished hath the kind out of the land, And upright among men — there are none, All of them for blood lie in wait, Each his brother they hunt [with] a net.
thou, therefore, mayest thou not yield to them, for there lie in wait for him of them more than forty men, who did anathematize themselves — not to eat nor to drink till they kill him, and now they are ready, waiting for the promise from thee.’
‘And, my father, see, yea see the skirt of thine upper robe in my hand; for by cutting off the skirt of thy upper robe, and I have not slain thee, know and see that there is not in my hand evil and transgression, and I have not sinned against thee, and thou art hunting my soul to take it!