²⁰ I’m broken by their taunts,
Flat on my face, reduced to a nothing.

I looked in vain for one friendly face. Not one.
I couldn’t find one shoulder to cry on.

²¹ They put poison in my soup,
Vinegar in my drink.

²² Let their supper be bait in a trap that snaps shut;
May their best friends be trappers who’ll skin them alive.