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Psalme. Li. Miserere mei Deus.


O Lorde for thy, great mercyes sake
Haue thou mercy on me:
For thy goodnes, do cleane away
My great Impuritie.

My mysdeades Lord, put quyte awaye
And eftsones make me cleane:
From synne, and all iniquytye
Thee for to serue agayne.
For I acknowledge, and confesse
My faults done vnto thee:
And myne offence, is neuer from
The presence of myne eye.
To thee O Lorde, euen I to thee
Haue done thys sore offence:
In thys mysdede I shew my faute
Not fearing thy presence.
But yf thou wilt, vouchsafe O Lord
Of this me now to ease:
And gyue thy worde, now vnto me
I shall not thee dysplease.

Then shalt thou be, for it named
A God bothe iust and true:
Moste constant in, thy promysses
Not chaunginge them anew.
Yea then shalt thou, be reputed
And counted Iust in dede:
Condemnynge them, that wyll not turne
And call for helpe at nede.
All things to thee, is full well knowne
And nothinge from the hyd:
Euen howe of synne, I had no lack
When I was conceyued.
For why? subiect, my mother was
Also to it made thrall:
and when that I, conceyued was
By her I had my fall.

Yea Lord though that, it were not small
Whych by her then I had:
Yet in thy truth, is my delyte
Wyth wysdome make me glad.
Yf thou (Oh Lord,) wylt me now clense
And purge me from my synne:
Wyth Isope washt, I shall be cleane
A new lyfe to begynne.
Yf thou wilt put, now cleane awaye
My synne and me renewe:
Then shall I be, that was once black
As whyte as is the snewe.
When thou wyth ioye, shalt me indew
And drawe to myrth agayne:
Then wyll my bones, be voyde of woo
Whych thou some tymes dydst payne.
Thy face good Lord, for thy name sake
Do turne from myne offence:
And for thy mercyes, great I craue
Preserue me now from thence.
Oh Lord make cleane, my harte I saye
That I in me reserue:
And that thy spiryte, within my breast
Alwaye maye me preserue.

For thy mercy, and greate goodnes
Forsake me not (oh Lord):
Ne take awaye, thy blessed spyryt
Lest that I be abhorde.
But rather graunte, thou vnto me
The comforte of thyne hande:
And wyth thy spyryt, as pryncypall
Defend me to wythstande.
Yf thou wylt graunte, this my request
Then synners shall I tell:
Theyr lyfe how that, they shall appoynte
In ioye wyth the to dwell.
And suche as then, be ouerthroune
And thrall to synne be made:
They shall repent, and turne agayne
Be seinge of my trade.
Oh God the author, of my health
From murder make me fre:
Thy ryghteousnes, my mouth shall tell
And prayse it certaynlye.
My tounge o Lord, do thou releace
Wherof thou hast the cure:
That then it may, declare abrode
Thy prayse and eke thy poure.

Yf that I should, my selfe apply
In presence for to brynge:
The outwarde sacryfyce, oh Lorde
It would please the nothinge.
Ne yet wylt thou, ought it regarde
As though thou hadst respect:
The offering that, the heate doth purge
Whych we to thee diect.
The sacryfyce, pleasinge the Lorde
And the oblacyon:
It is the spyryt, ryghte penitent
That maketh her great moone.
It is truly, the heart of trouthe
Wyth doloure strycken sore:
Thou cāst not Lord, dispyse these twayne
No not for euermore.
To Syon Lorde, alwayes declare
Thy grace and greate goodnes:
That the walles of, Ierusalem
Agayne may haue redresse.
The sacryfyce, we then shal make
Shalbe pleasaunte to thee:
Whych shal declare, as tokens trew
Oure inwarde purytie.

I meane here the, purged offrynge
And eke oblacyon:
On aulters when, we calues shall laye
Thy name to call vpon.
vve are here taught, to feare the Lorde
And not him to prouoke
Lest that vve fele, for our desartes
Hys plague and heauy stroke
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