4 They pluck salt-wort by the bushes; And the roots of the broom are their food.
5 They are driven forth from the midst of men; They cry after them as after a thief;
6 So that they dwell in frightful valleys, In holes of the earth and of the rocks.
7 Among the bushes they bray; Under the nettles they are gathered together.
8 They are children of fools, yea, children of base men; They were scourged out of the land.
9 And now I am become their song, Yea, I am a byword unto them.
10 They abhor me, they stand aloof from me, And spare not to spit in my face.