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Then Bildad the Shuhite replied:“How long until you end these speeches?Show some sense, and then we can talk.Why are we regarded as cattle,as stupid in your sight?You who tear yourself in anger—should the earth be forsaken on your account,or the rocks be moved from their place?Indeed, the lamp of the wicked is extinguished;the flame of his fire does not glow.The light in his tent grows dark,and the lamp beside him goes out.His vigorous stride is shortened,and his own schemes trip him up.For his own feet lead him into a net,and he wanders into its mesh.A trap seizes his heel;a snare grips him.A noose is hidden in the ground,and a trap lies in his path.Terrors frighten him on every sideand harass his every step.His strength is depleted,and calamity is ready at his side.It devours patches of his skin;the firstborn of death devours his limbs.He is torn from the shelter of his tentand is marched off to the king of terrors.Fire resides in his tent;burning sulfur rains down on his dwelling.The roots beneath him dry up,and the branches above him wither away.The memory of him perishes from the earth,and he has no name in the land.He is driven from light into darknessand is chased from the inhabited world.He has no offspring or posterity among his people,no survivor where he once lived.Those in the west are appalled at his fate,while those in the east tremble in horror.Surely such is the dwelling of the wickedand the place of one who does not know God.”