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The whole Psalter translated into English Metre

which contayneth an hundreth and fifty Psalmes

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Psalme. XXII.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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48

Psalme. XXII.

The Argument.

Lo Dauid here,
Christes type doth beare
in anguishe all be set
For here in summe
Christes passion
and rising iust be met

Deus deus meus.


1

My God my God: regard me God,
why hast me left alone?
To make so farre: my health to iarre
from wordes of my great mone?

2

My God I cry: as day doth pry,
and yet thou geuest none eare:
No rest by night I take in sight,
no silence any where.

3

Yet holdst thy will: in thee so still?
as onely good thy selfe?
Thou Iacobs prayse: thy selfe vp rayse,
they sang alwayes thy health.

4

Our fathers olde: on thee were bolde,
to hope, and had theyr ease:
As oft as they: to thee did pray,
theyr troubles then dyd cease.

49

5

They cald on thee: and helpe therby,
thou gauest to them anone:
They layd theyr trust: on thee so iust,
and scapt confusion.

6

Concernyng mee: a worme to see,
I am, no man of pryce:
A scorne all day: a cast away,
of men in theyr deuyce.

7

All they that mee: wyth eye dyd see,
hye scornes to me they layd:
Wyth lips they mowd: with knees they bowd
they shooke theyr hed and sayd.

8

In God he set: affiaunce great,
let hym than rid hym quyte:
Deliuer hee: to make hym free,
for hym he pleasth in sight.

9

Yet he thou art: that dydst depart,
my mothers wombe from me:
At both her brestes in quyet rest,
thou nurst me tenderly.

10

I was whole cast: on thee full fast,
from that my mothers pappe:
No dout from thence: in sure defence,
thou God keptst me in lappe.

11

Fro me to go: oh do not so,
for trouble is at hand:
No helpe of man: optayne I can,
in thee my refuge standth.

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12

Wylde buls most stout: flocke me about,
by me full fierce they ryde:
Fat buls in deede: as Basan feede,
be set on euery side.

13

My death to shape: wyth mouthes they gape,
on me they stare I say:
They swell and stampe: as Lyons rampe,
when they do rore at pray.

14

Out am I cast: as water wast,
my bones in ioyntes be lose:
My hart wythin: doth melt and pyne,
as waxe by fier dose.

15

As potsherd dry: my strength doth lye,
to mouth my tong cleau'th fast:
To death in dust: thou hast me thrust,
thus made I am agast.

16

Yea dogs full grim: haue closde me in,
in councels mad they meete:
Besiegd I stand: of wicked hand,
they pearst my hand and feete.

17

My bones to tell: I may full well,
at me they gase and stare:
They did delite: in my despite,
they dyd deryde my care.

18

My clothes they part: wyth ioyfull hart,
as spoyle the sowgiers do:
For that my cote: they cast theyr lot,
for that vnsowed was so.

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19

But be not far: my gouerner,
O Lord my castle strong:
Thy mercy send: and me defend,
in hast, no tyme prolong.

20

From sworde and knyfe: discharge my lyfe,
my soule lest they deuoure:
Keepe well my soule: as derlyng fole,
from dogges theyr handes and power.

21

O kepe in awe: the Lyons iawe,
saue me from them that byte:
From all the hornes of Unicornes,
protect me Lord of myght.

22

Thy power and name: I shall declame,
to all my bretherne met:
Glad wyll I rayse: in church thy prayse,
in congregation set.

23

The Lord who fearth: with lawds draw nere,
all Iacobs seede hym prayse:
Feare ye hym well: all Israell,
hym magnify alwayes.

24

He wyll aduise: and not despise,
the poore for low degree:
He hydth no face: in tyme and place,
my prayer heard hath hee.

25

I purpose mee: to speake of thee,
in church thy prayse to sprede:
My vowes so plight: in iust mens sight,
I will perfourme in dede.

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26

The meeke his brede: shall eate full fed,
and prayse the Lord all day:
For God who seekth: hys prayse he keepth,
theyr hart shall lyue for aye.

27

The world so brode: will turne to God,
whyle thys they call to hart:
Before hys face: all folke in place,
shall honour hym impart.

28

All kyngdomes stand: to God as bond,
theyr trybes and kynredes eke:
And them in raigne: he shall retayne,
all quarters them to seke.

29

The fat shall fede: and serue in drede,
they all shall worshyp ryfe:
Yea dead men all: to hym shall fall,
who gaue theyr soules no lyfe.

30

My seede and bloud: thys Lord so good
shall serue in worship free:
And thus my stocke: as God hys flocke,
shall iust reputed bee.

31

They shall proceede: to shew in deede,
to people thence to come:
Gods iustice great: from heauenly seat,
what he to them hath done.