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The .cxxxix. Psalme.
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The .cxxxix. Psalme.

Lorde thou hast searched & knowen me, thou doest knowe when I syt:
And when I ryse, & longe ago thou knoweste my thought eche whitte.
My goynge and my syttyng downe, thou hast throughly tryed
And all my wayes thou haste foreseene, and them thoroughly searched.
For on my tonge ther is no word, but thou haste knowne it well:
I neuer spake one worde (good Lord) wherof thou couldst not tell.
Before and eke behynde thou haste made me in fassion:
And to me thou haste put thy hande, in my creation.
Wonderfull science thou dydste shewe, when thou dydeste me frame.
Which was more hyghe, then that I coulde euer attayne the same.
Whyther shall I go from thy spirite, or from thy presence flee?
For if I clyme vp into heauē, thou arte there before me.
And if I make my bed in hell, or go downe to the graue:
Thou art present ther & seeste all the corners of the caue.


If I should take flyght toward the easte, and dwell be youde all seas.
thy power shall reach and rule me there, as it shall the beste please.
And if I shal saye with my selfe, the dearcknes shall me hyde:
The nyght it selfe is a bryght lyght about me on eche syde.
Dearcknes doeth hyde nothynge from the, fornyght lyke daye doeth shyne:
And the dearckenes and eke the lyght, are boeth one in thyne eien.
And thou haste my reines in thyne hande, and thy possession:
And in my mothers wombe thou haste, made me in facion.
I wil cōfesse to the because, I am wrought wondrousely:
And because thy worckes doe excell, whiche my soule knoweth chiefly.
My styffnes and my bones (good Lorde) were not vnknowne to the:
When I was formed in the place, where is no lyght to se.
And when I was framed and wrought, euen in the longhest parte:
Of all the earth, euen as it had ben by the Phrigians arte.
Thyne eies sawe me beynge but seed, conceyued wythout shape:


And to be written in thy boke none of my partes dyd scape.
Thys was done many daies before, my membres were formed:
And not one of all those dayes was from thy fore knowledge hyd.
But (Oh Lorde God) howe fewe of thy thoughtes do I vnderstande?
And yet growe they not to greate summes & many a thousande?
Whych if I would rehearse by tale, many mo would they be:
Then the sande & when I awake, I do styll thyncke on the.
But if thou kyll the wycked man (Lorde God) for his deserte:
Then let the man that doth sheade bloude, from thy seruant departe.
For they beynge thyne enimies, do speake moste hardily.
And do rashly vsurpe thy name committyng blasphemie.
Oh Lorde should I not hate thy foes and cruell enimies:
And vexe my selfe when they resyste the and agaynste the rise?
Yea wyth most deadly hate I wyll, persecute them I saye:
And wyll take them as enimies, and deadly foes for aye.


Search me (O God) & knowe myne herte, let nought be therin hyd:
Do thou proue me & knowe my thoughtes, whether they be wycked.
And loke if any thynge be ille, that I do Imagyn:
And leade me forth into the waye that all men must go in.