They bray among the bushes.
They are gathered together under the nettles.
They are children of fools, yes, children of wicked men.
They were flogged out of the land.
“Now I have become their song.
Yes, I am a byword to them.
They abhor me, they stand aloof from me, and don’t hesitate to spit in my face.
For he has untied his cord, and afflicted me; and they have thrown off restraint before me.
On my right hand rise the rabble.
They thrust aside my feet.
They cast their ways of destruction up against me.
They mar my path.
They promote my destruction without anyone’s help.