CIX.
1
God of my praise, let my complaint
Thy patient silence marre;
2
For wicked and deceatfull mouths
Against me opned are.
3
With lying tongs they me traduce,
They compasse me around
With words of malice, and persew
Me, while no caus is found.
4
They for my favor are my foes,
But vnto thee I pray.
5
They ill for good, my love vnfain'd
With hatred do repay.
6
Let ouer him the wicked rule,
And at his right hand sett
7
Be Sathan. Let him, (when adjudg't,)
Doome with the guilty gett;
8
His prayer sin̄e; his days be few;
His charge another take.
9
Their mother soone a widow, may
Their orphane children make.
10
Still vaige, and sharke, and beg about,
Their bounds lay'd waist, they may;
11
To mercilesse extortioners,
Lett all hee hath be prey.
12
His labour let the stranger spoyle,
And none compassion shew;
Vnto his children fatherles
From none may favour flow.
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 fresch
With God, nor wipt away
15
His mother's sinne; before the Lord
Let them be found for ay.
16
The Lord their memorie from earth
Root 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.
17
To cursing as he was enclin'd,
Let cursing to him cleaue:
As blessing bred him no delight,
No blessing be him neare.
18
Let cursing cloath him as a suit
Most fitt for him to weare;
As water in his bowells may
It sink; as oyle find place,
19
Evin pearce his bones; bee't as a cloake,
Or covering of disgrace,
20
Or as a belt, continowally
To gird himselff withall.
This to my foes, that will speek
Against my soule, befall;
21
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.
22
For good it is, O God, and I
Afflicted am, and poore.
Yea, deep and deadlie wounds my hart
Within me doth endure.
23
Gone am I, a declining shade
My cace doth clearlie show;
As ye vnsettled grasse-hopper
I tos'd am to and fro.
24
My knees, through fasting, feeble are;
My flesh of fatnes free;
25
To them made a reproach, their heads
They shake and gaize at me.
26
Help me, O Lord my God! O save
Me, for thy mercie's sake.
27
That this thy hand is and thy work,
(Lord,) manifest it make.
28
Curse they, so thow do blesse, O Lord;
Confusion let them gain
Against me who arise, but glade
Thy servant let remain.
29
Disgrace my foes may cloath, their schame
Them 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.
