Psalm CIX. Deus laudem meam ne tacueris, &c.
I
Guard of my Life, and God of all my Praise,
Who see'st the Outrage off'red me,
Thy self, and Power for my just sentence raise,
Nor let the wrongs I bear reflect on Thee!
Thou hear'st what cruel Words the wicked speak,
Let not them only, and not Thou Thy Silence break!
II
With words of hatred I am girt around,
And from all parts they with me fight:
So hard, that I am all but one great wound,
And the whole cause I give them is my Right,
With prayers for them their malice would reprove,
But those with Scorn, with hatred they reward my Love.
III
Let him some Tyrant serve, be made a Slave;
And Satan place at his right hand;
No other pitty find than what he gave,
And at his Enemies tribunal stand!
Let him be judg'd, condemn'd, and all his prayers
Be made in vain to deaf, or else to stubborn eares!
IV
Let suddain death his wretched life attend,
His office to another give!
Let on his wife and seed the curse descend,
They Fatherless and she a Widdow live!
Let them be vagabonds, and begg their bread,
And have have no certain place to hide, or rest their head?
V
Let the Extortioner catch all he has,
And strangers to his labours come!
Let him find none, who will resent his case,
But with new miseries encrease the summ!
None who will to him any Mercy show,
Or on his Fatherless one friendly look bestow!
VI
Let them be all cut off, and their curst Name
In the next age be quite forgot!
Or if they be remembred, let their shame
On their Atchievments be a constant blot!
Let his fore-Fathers Sins be in Thine ey,
And all his Mothers lusts afresh for vengeance cry!
VII
Let silence or reproach upon him rest,
And as it ne're was in his minde,
Either to favour, or relieve th' opprest,
Neither reliefe, nor favour let him find!
But as the Needy he with wrongs persu'd,
On his own head, Let them be all again renew'd!
VIII
As he Lov'd cursing, let him still be curst!
And hated blessing seek in vain!
With envy, which first swel'd him, let him burst,
And then like water, on him turn' it again;
Like Oyle let it to' his very marrow pierce,
And like those flames, which boyle it be, but far more fierce!
IX
Give him no other garment for his pride,
Than this, with which he was array'd;
Close with his girdle let his loines be ty'd,
To all a terror, of himself afraid!
And executed by the hand Divine,
Let this his ruine be, who only plotted mine!
X
But, Lord my God, for thine own great Names sake,
And for Thy Mercy rescue me!
Thou, who the poor mans cause do'st undertake,
As ready to assist the helpless be!
Look how I stooping go, and bow'd to th' ground,
But there no herb can find to ease, or heal my wound!
XI
My dayes, and age are like a shaddow gon,
That when the Sun withdraws is lost;
And as the locust driven up and down,
From field, to field, from land to land I'm tost:
My knees and flesh of strength through fasting fayl,
And those, who wounded me with scornes, my life assail.
XII
But, Lord my God, for Thine Own great Names sake,
And for Thy Mercy rescue me!
That all may know the care Thou' art pleas'd to take,
And in my sure deliverance honour Thee!
Bless Thou, and let them curse, confound their noise,
And make them all asham'd, whilst I in Thee rejoyce!
XIII
Shame, and confusion to my Enemies,
Let it their Vest and Portion be!
Whilst I to Heaven in tuneful Numbers rise,
And tell abroad what God has done for me!
How from Oppession he the Poor did save,
And what his judges had deny'd, just sentence gave!
