Oh, my dear old friend yea, mine own familiar friend in whom I trusted, who once did eat of my bread, has now, now shown me his heels. Hear a parable, a dark saying on the harp. Trust not in riches. None can redeem your brother. None can reach beyond the grave.
Men dream up mischief.
Men of low degree are vain, high degreed tell lies. Proud men against me and violent assemblies are seeking my soul. Show me a token for good that they who hate are ashamed. Thou deceitful tongue loving all devouring words, devising mischief, a sharp razor of deceit, loving lies, loving evil. Reproach breaks my heart, I am full of heaviness.