A thorn hath gone up into the hand of a drunkard, And a parable in the mouth of fools.
`They smote me, I have not been sick, They beat me, I have not known. When I awake -- I seek it yet again!'
Great `is' the Former of all, And He is rewarding a fool, And is rewarding transgressors.
As one who is binding a stone in a sling, So `is' he who is giving honour to a fool.