3 With want and with famine gloomy, Those fleeing to a dry place, Formerly a desolation and waste,
4 Those cropping mallows near a shrub, And broom-roots [is] their food.
5 From the midst they are cast out, (They shout against them as a thief),
6 In a frightful place of valleys to dwell, Holes of earth and clefts.
7 Among shrubs they do groan, Under nettles they are gathered together.
8 Sons of folly -- even sons without name, They have been smitten from the land.
9 And now, their song I have been, And I am to them for a byword.
