The .ix. Psalme.
I wyll
set forth and prayse the Lorde with al myne herte in dede:
And al hys wonderful worckes shal by my be declared.
I wyll be glad & eke reioyce in the (O thou most hye:)
And to thyne holy name I wyl synge moste reioyceyngly.
Whylse my foes shall be driuen backe, and caused to recoyle:
They shall fal and peryshe before the, as mē made a spoyle.
For thou art my iudgement and haste iudged all my debate:
Thou ryghteouse iudge I saye thou hast sate on thy iudgement seate.
Thou haste blamed the Heathen, and destroyed the wycked:
And for euer also thou haste theyr name abolyshed.
Now are thiwastes all at an ende, O thou fierse enemye:
Wyth the cytyes that thou cuntest doune, gone is their memorye.
But the Lorde doeth reygne for euer, hys kyngedome hath no ende:
Hys iudgement seate is made ready, to iudge them that offende.
And he shall iudge the rounde compas of the worlde by iustice:
And emonge the people he shall geue vpryght sentences.
The Lorde shalbe asure refuge vnto the oppressed:
He shalbe a salfegarde I saye, when men be afflycted.
Suche as haue knowne thyne holye name styke vnto the only:
For thou (Lorde) doest not forsake them that seke the studyously.
Synge to the Lorde that doeth abyde in the cyty Syon:
Shewe hys counselles in eche people, and in eche nacyon.
For he that doeth reuenge the slayne, shall none of them forget:
Neyther the crye of suche men as are wyth troubles bysette.
Be mercyfull to me (O Lorde) and do my trouble se:
That of mine enmies I suffer, and frō death lyfte vp me.
That I maye tel all thy prayses in the gates of Syon:
And I shalbe glad and reioyce in thy saluacyon.
The Heathen stycke fast in the pytte that they haue prepared:
And in the net that they haue hyd, their fote is entangled.
The Lord is knowne by his iustice and the wycked tangled:
Wyth the worckes of hys wycked handes, a thynge to be noted.
The wycked and vngodly men shal slyde doune into hell:
And all the Heathen that forget the God of Israell.
For neyther shall the indigent be forgottē for aye:
Nor the hope of the afflicted be alway vayne I saye.
Aryse (O Lord) least mortal man, preuayle by mayne and myght:
And let the heathen nacyons be iudged in thy syght.
Lorde set a mayster ouer them, that maye kepe them styll thraulle:
And let the heathen nacyons learne, that they be mortalle.