Vt quid domine.
Psalme. x.
T.S.
He complaineth of the fraude, rapine, tiranny, and of all kindes of
wrong, which worldly men vse, assigninge the cause thereof, whiche
was that wicked men beinge as it were dronken with worldly prosperitie,
and therfore setting aparte all feare and reuerence towardes
God, thinke they may doe all thinges without controwlinge Therfore
he calleth vppon God to sende some remeady agaynst these desperate
euyls. And at length comforteth him selfe with hope of deliuerance.
[_]
Sing this as the thirde Psalme.
What
is the cause that thou (O Lorde)
art now so sarre from thine?
And kepest close thy countenaunce,
from vs this troublous time?
The poore doth pearysh by the proude,
and wicked mens desire:
Let them be taken in the craft,
that they themselues conspire.
For in the lust of his owne hart,
the vngodly doth delite:
So doth the wicked praise hym selfe,
and doeth the Lorde despite.
He is proude that right and wrong,
he setteth all apart:
Nay, nay, there is no God (sayeth he)
for thus he thinketh in hart.
Because his wayes do prosper still,
he doth thy lawes neglect:
And with a blast doth puffe against,
suche as would him correct.
Tush, tush (saieth he) I haue no dread,
lest mine estate should chaunge:
And why? for all aduersitie,
to him is very straunge.
His mouth is full of cursednes.
He meaneth
that wickednes is so far ouergrowē that God must nedes nowe helpe or neuer.
of fraud, deceyt, and guyle:
Under his tong doeth mischief syt,
and trauell all the whyle,
He lyeth hid in wayes and holes,
to slay the innocent.
Against the poore that passe him by,
hys cruell eyes are bent.
And like a Lyon priuely,
lieth lurking in his den:
If he may snare them in his net,
to spoyle poore simple men.
And for the nonce full craftely,
he croueheth downe I say:
So are greate heapes of poore men made,
by his strong power, his pray.
Tush God forgetteth this (sayeth he)
therfore may I be bolde:
His countenance is cast aside,
he doth it not beholde,
Arise (O Lorde) O God in wome,
the poore mans hope doth rest:
Lift vp thy hand, forget not Lorde,
the poore that be opprest,
What blasphemy is thys to thee?
Lorde dost thou not abhorre it?
To heare the wicked in theyr hartes,
say, tushe thou carest not for it?
But thou seest all thys wickednes,
and well doest vnderstande:
That frendles and poore fatherles,
are left into thy hande.
By the Heathen he meaneth the Hypocrites whyche gloryed as yf they had bene
of the churche.
Of wicked and malicious men,
then breake the power for euer:
That they with theyr iniquytie,
may pearish altogether.
The Lorde shall raine for euermore,
as king and God alone:
And he will chase the Heathen folke,
out of hys lande eche one.
Thou hearest (O Lord) the poore mans plaint,
theyr praiers & request:
Their harts thou wilt confirme vntyll
thine eares to heare be prest.
To iudge the poore and fatherles,
and helpe them to their right:
That they may be no more opprest,
with men of worldly might.
