Though I were perfect, yet would I not know my soul: I would despise my life.
Though I am blameless, I regard not myself; I despise my life.
I am perfect; I regard not myself; I despise my life.
I’m blameless, yet don’t know myself; I reject my life.
And if I now became simple, my soul would be ignorant even of this, and my life would weary me.
Although I should be simple, even this my soul shall be ignorant of: and I shall be weary of my life.