2
“If only my grief could be weighed
and placed with my calamity on the scales.
3
For then it would outweigh the sand of the seas —
no wonder my words have been rash.
4
For the arrows of the Almighty have pierced me;
my spirit drinks in their poison;
the terrors of God are arrayed against me.
5
Does a wild donkey bray over fresh grass,
or an ox low over its fodder?
6
Is tasteless food eaten without salt,
or is there flavor in the white of an egga?
7
My soul refuses to touch them;
they are loathsome food to me.