1
"But now they mock at me, men younger than I, Whose fathers I disdained to put with the dogs of my flock.
2
Indeed, what profit is the strength of their hands to me? Their vigor has perished.
3
They are gaunt from want and famine, Fleeing late to the wilderness, desolate and waste,
4
Who pluck mallow by the bushes, And broom tree roots for their food.
5
They were driven out from among men, They shouted at them as at a thief.
6
They had to live in the clefts of the valleys, In caves of the earth and the rocks.
7
Among the bushes they brayed, Under the nettles they nestled.
8
They were sons of fools, Yes, sons of vile men; They were scourged from the land.
9
"And now I am their taunting song; Yes, I am their byword.
10
They abhor me, they keep far from me; They do not hesitate to spit in my face.