Psalme CIX.
[Part 1.]
My God, my Glory, leave not in Distresse;
Nor let prevailing Fraud the Truth oppresse.
They who delight in Subtilties and Wrongs,
Afflict me with the Poison of their Tongues.
VVith Slander and Detraction gird me round,
And would, without a Cause, my life confound.
Good turnes with evill proudly recompense,
And Love with Hate; my Merit, my offence.
But I in these Extremes to thee repaire,
And poure out my perplexed Soule in Praire.
Subject him to a Tyrants sterne command;
Subverting Satan place at his Right hand;
Found guilty, when arraign'd: in that fear'd time
Let his rejected Prairs augment his Crime.
May he by violence untimely die,
And let another his Command supply.
Let his distressed Widow weep in vaine;
His wretched Orphans to deafe Eares complaine.
Let them the wandring Paths of Exile tread,
And in unpeopled Deserts seeke their bread.
Let griping Vsurers divide his spoile;
And Strangers reape the harvest of his toile.
Part. 2.
In his long misery may he find no Friend;
None to his Race so much as Pity lend.
Let his Posterity be overthrowne;
Their Names to the succeeding Age unknowne.
Let not the Lord his Fathers Sins forget;
His Mothers Infamy before him set.
O let them be the Object of his Eye,
Till hee out-root their hated Memory:
That to the wretched would no Mercy show;
But cruelly pursu'd his Overthrow.
Laid Trains to kill the Broken and Contrite.
On his owne head let his dire Curses light.
He hated Blessing; never be he blest:
Let cursing like a Robe his Loines invest;
And like a fatall Girdle gird him round;
As he with Execrations did abound.
Let them like Water in his Bowels boile,
And eate into his Bones like burning Oyle.
Thus let the Lord reward my Enemies,
VVho seeke to blast me with malicious lies.
Part. 3.
But, Lord, in my deliverance proclaime
Thy Mercy, for the honour of thy Name.
For I am poore, with misery opprest;
My wounded heart bleeds in my panting brest.
I like the Evening shadow am declin'd,
And like the Locust toss'd with every Wind.
My feeble knees beneath their burden bend;
My Flesh with fasting falls, my Bones ascend.
Reproch hath seis'd on me; my Foes revile;
And in derision shake their heads, and smile.
My God, O snatch me from the swallowing grave!
Thy servant with accustom'd Mercy save:
That they may know it was thy powerfull Hand;
And how I by divine Supportance stand.
Still may they vainely curse whom thou dost blesse;
And pine with envy at my good successe.
Let them be cloth'd with shame: O be their owne
Confusion on them like a Mantle throwne.
But I thy praise will duly celebrate;
And to the multitude thy Deeds relate:
That hast th'afflicted Soule from sorrow freed,
And from their snares who had his death decreed.
