The third depth.
1
But this is come to vs
For that vve shed the bloud
Of such as vvere most neere to god,
And shevvd vs all the good,
2
The bloud I say of them
Doth cry gainst vs to god,
And novve vve feele his hand of ire
His scourge, his vvhipe, his rod.
3
This bloud of men so iust,
Hath bine our bane, our vvoe,
And made vs turne our backes frō such
As made them selues our foe.
4
For vve card not for Preeste.
Nor those that did vs good,
But vvere both ferce, & fell to them
We stroue to sheed their bloud.
5
For this our eies doe vvatch,
And vvaite, & still doe faile.
No helpe, noe hand is strecht to vs,
And so vve faint, & quaile.
6
The foe doth hunt our stepps
As vve goe in the streete
They kill, they cry, they roare on vs
They tread vs vvith their feete
The fourth depth.
1
They hunt vs in the feilds
On hills in dales they kill
We dare not once loke out of dore
Our streats vvith dead they fill.
2
The breath of all our liues
Is caught fast in their snare,
And left he is in plight full ill,
Both base, & poore, & bare.
3
Let these be glad that dvvell
Farre of out of this place
Take heede least you doe moue the lord.
Gainst you to turne his face.
4
For he hath plagud vs sore
For all our sinnes, & ill,
And yet vve hope he vvill loke back
And cease our folke to kill.
The V.
Cap.
5
O lord call thou to mind
What is come on vs all
Take heede to vs that in our vvoe
To none but thee doe call.
6
Our lands, our rents, our all
The foe from vs doe take.
The folke that are to vs most strange
A prey of vs doe make.
