A Godly Ballad of the Just Man Job.  
Wherein his great patience he doth declare,  
His plagues and his miseries, and yet did not despair.  
The Tune is, The Merchant.  

WAlking all alone,  
No not long agone,  
I heard one wail and weep;  
alas he said,  
I am laid  
In sorrow strong and deep,   

To hear him cry,  
I did reply,  
and privily abode,  
there did I find,  
in secret mind.  
the just and patient Job.   

His woeful pain  
Did me constrain,  
by force to wail and moan,  
God did him prove,  
how he did love,  
the living Lord alone.   

In heaviness,  
He did express,  
these words with bitter tears,  
alas poor man,  
wretched I am,  
in care myself out-wares.   

This mortal life,  
Is but a strife,  
a battle great and strong,  
my years also,  
to waste and go,  
and not continue long.   

The day wherein,  
I did begin  
to move and stir my breath,  
would God I had,  
an exchange made,  
and turned unto death.   

So should not I  
In misery,  
be wrapped as I am,  
the time and day,  
well curse I may,  
when to this world I came.   

For my faults past,  
I am out-cast,  
and of all men abhorred,  
O that I might,  
once stand in sight,  
to reason with the Lord.   

I should then know,  
Why he doth show  
this extreme cruelty,  
upon his flesh,  
which is but grass,  
and born is for to die.   

From top to toe,  
I feel with woe,  
that sorrow is my meat,  
put to exile,  
with Botch and Boyl,  
and dunghill is my seat.   

My Kinsfolk talk  
And by me walk,  
wondering at my fall,  
they count my state,  
unfortunate,  
and so forsake me all.   

My children five,  
Which were alive,  
they all be quite destroyed,  
the Plague fell  
on my cattle,  
with all that I enjoyed.   

Should I for them  
My God Blaspheme,  
and his good gifts despise,  
that will I not,  
but take my lot,  
giving his name the praise.   

They were not mine,  
But for a time,  
I know well it is so,  
God gave them me,  
why should not he,  
again take them me fro.   

Thus having said,  
Full still I stayed,  
his end for to behold,  
I there did see,  
his felicity,  
increasing manifold.   

I know well then,  
How patient men,  
should not suffer in vain,  
but shall be sure,  
to have pleasure,  
rewarded for their pain.   
FINIS.   

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, I. Wright, J. Clarke, W. Thackeray, and T. Passenger.