The works of Sir William Mure of Rowallan Edited with introduction, notes, and glossary by William Tough |
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The works of Sir William Mure of Rowallan | ||
169
CIX.
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God of my praise, let my complaintThy patient silence marre;
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For wicked and deceatfull mouthsAgainst me opned are.
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With lying tongs they me traduce,They compasse me around
With words of malice, and persew
Me, while no caus is found.
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They for my favor are my foes,But vnto thee I pray.
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They ill for good, my love vnfain'dWith hatred do repay.
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Let ouer him the wicked rule,And at his right hand sett
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Be Sathan. Let him, (when adjudg't,)Doome with the guilty gett;
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His prayer sin̄e; his days be few;His charge another take.
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Their mother soone a widow, mayTheir orphane children make.
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Still vaige, and sharke, and beg about,Their bounds lay'd waist, they may;
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To mercilesse extortioners,Lett all hee hath be prey.
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His labour let the stranger spoyle,And none compassion shew;
Vnto his children fatherles
From none may favour flow.
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13
His ofspring, utterlie cutt off,May no more sprout nor spread;
Let evin their names be blotted out,
In ages to succeed.
14
His father's faults be ever freschWith God, nor wipt away
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His mother's sinne; before the LordLet them be found for ay.
16
The Lord their memorie from earthRoot out, becaus hee shew
No mercie, but the indigent
and needie did persew;
Yea, spaird not to the brocken heart
The wounds of death to giue.
The wounds of death to giue.
17
To cursing as he was enclin'd,Let cursing to him cleaue:
As blessing bred him no delight,
No blessing be him neare.
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Let cursing cloath him as a suitMost fitt for him to weare;
As water in his bowells may
It sink; as oyle find place,
It sink; as oyle find place,
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Evin pearce his bones; bee't as a cloake,Or covering of disgrace,
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Or as a belt, continowallyTo gird himselff withall.
This to my foes, that will speek
Against my soule, befall;
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From God be this their due. But thow,For glorie of thy name,
Do, for me Lord, me to rescue,
Let lousse thy mercye's streame.
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22
For good it is, O God, and IAfflicted am, and poore.
Yea, deep and deadlie wounds my hart
Within me doth endure.
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Gone am I, a declining shadeMy cace doth clearlie show;
As ye vnsettled grasse-hopper
I tos'd am to and fro.
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My knees, through fasting, feeble are;My flesh of fatnes free;
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To them made a reproach, their headsThey shake and gaize at me.
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Help me, O Lord my God! O saveMe, for thy mercie's sake.
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That this thy hand is and thy work,(Lord,) manifest it make.
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Curse they, so thow do blesse, O Lord;Confusion let them gain
Against me who arise, but glade
Thy servant let remain.
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Disgrace my foes may cloath, their schameThem cover as a cloake.
30
The Lord wncessantlie I'le prayse,My mouth shall him invoke;
31
I'le prayse him midst the preasse, for Hee,The poore-man's right hand nigh,
Him, from persute of such as wold
Condemne his soule, setts free.
The works of Sir William Mure of Rowallan | ||