Walters Ms. W.13, Synonyms of Isidore of Seville

they do not cease to prepare false testimonies, the accusers do not stop throwing (their accusations). Judges do not allow writing, I am judged by false and cruel opinion of witnesses and judges, a false sentence of witnesses leads the innocent to death, from the same assembly come the witnesses, from the same council the judges, from the same gathering the accusers. They set up wicked judges, they present false witnesses, they trust the testimony of the unjust. No one dissents from them, no one disagrees, no one rejects their counsel. To whom should I speak? To whom should I talk? Whom should I approach? Whom should I seek first? From whom should I seek counsel? In whom should I place my trust? I am hated by all, abandoned by everyone's affection. Everyone has cast me out, all threaten me with abomination,

everyone shudders at me, rejects me, they intend for a renunciation. I want to appeal to them, but they threaten me, I desire to plead with them, but they flee, and oppose and hate me. I want to have them propitious by praying, but they are even more troublesome. Sometimes, however, they join with feigned affection, not for consolation but for temptation. They speak with deceit, and if they are silent, it is not a sincere silence. They seek what they may hear, they seek what they may reveal, they explore from where they may deceive. But I, with my head lowered, my countenance humbled, my face downcast, remain silent and mute, I persist since the silent beginning, I have set a guard on my mouth, I have placed a seal on my lips, I have repressed my voice from speech, I have withdrawn my tongue from talking, even when asked about good, I remain silent. For I preferred

to remain silent with the wicked rather than respond. However, they do not relent, they become even more savage, they pursue me even more after strike, they rush upon me more and more, they even assail me with loud cries, hurl insolently their insults onto me, they raise their voices, their influence, their noise against me, with open voice they hurl insults and reproaches upon me. Provoked by others, they all turn their weapons toward me, all rage against me, all direct their intentions toward my destruction, all prepare their hands for my death. Therefore, in such great fear, in such great dread, in such great terror, I have wasted away in misery, I have turned pale in misery, I have become bloodless, my heart has withered away, I am scorched with fear, I waste away with dread, fear and trembling have shaken my soul, thus, I have been thrusted in exile, thus,

I have been condemned in exile, thus, I mourn the punishment of exile, thus, I lament the condemnation of exile, bound by the chains of servitude, weighed down by the burden of my condition, enslaved to menial labor, in cold, in snow, in excessive languor, in cold, in foul weather, placed in all labor, in all danger. After losing my possessions, after the loss of all things, I have become destitute and poor, I am in need, I beg, I publicly seek for alms, no one extends a hand to the needy, no one helps the destitute, I am not worthy of anyone's pity, I am forsaken by all compassion, for there is no mercy for me. Everyone scorns the beggar, they do not even provide crumbs for the hungry, into the mouth of the thirsty no one pours a refreshing drop, no one offers to me,

even a little drop of water. For I have become abominable to all, whoever looks at me, all despise me as if I were ulcerous, they spit on me as if I were putrid, they shudder to touch me as if I were leprous. My flesh lies bound with iron, a nd tied with chains, it lies pressed down by fetters, it lies bound with fetters. Torments are not lacking, tortures are not lacking, threats of punishment are not lacking, every day the cruelty against me worsens. The executioners finally subject my body to cruel tortures, in the heard variety of punishments, they tear apart my entrails and limbs, they devise all cruel tortures they can upon me, thousands of torments have been extracted from me, thousands of torments have been inflicted upon me, thousands of torments have torn me to pieces, yet I am not killed by mere death. My flesh, cut with wounds, has decayed,