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7 So the devil went out from the Lord, and smote Job with sore boils from his feet to his head. 8 And he took a potsherd to scrape away the discharge, and sat upon a dung-heap outside the city. 9 And when much time had passed, his wife said to him, How long wilt thou hold out, saying, Behold, I wait yet a little while, expecting the hope of my deliverance? for, behold, thy memorial is abolished from the earth, even thy sons and daughters, the pangs and pains of my womb which I bore in vain with sorrows; and thou thyself sittest down to spend the nights in the open air among the corruption of worms, and I am a wanderer and a servant from place to place and house to house, waiting for the setting of the sun, that I may rest from my labours and my pangs which now beset me: but say some word against the Lord, and die. Job 2:7-9, Brenton Septuagint Translation. Public domain.
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