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!