Sions Elegies: Threnodia III, Eleg. 21

WHat squint-ey'd scorne, what flout, what wry-mouth'd scoffe
That sullen pride e're tooke acquaintance of,
Hath scap'd the furie of my Foemans tongue,
To doe my simple Innocencie wrong?
What day, what houre; nay, what shorter season;
Hath kept my soule secure, from the treason
Of their corrupted counsels, which dispensed
Dayes, nights and houres, to conspire my end?
My sorrowes are their songs, and as slight fables,
Fill up the silence of their wanton tables;
Looke downe (just God) & with thy powre divine
Behold my Foes; They be thy Foes, and mine.