| 1 | I shall not gird at realism. | |
| 2 | What man is like Job, who drinketh up scorning like water? | |
| 3 | And they that were crucified with him reviled him. | |
| 4 | My friends scorn me: but mine eye poureth out tears unto God. | |
| 5 | And they that passed by reviled him, wagging their heads |
