Psalm 140

Lord, save me from the Violent;
From him who takes delight in ill:
Whose heart Deceit and Mischiefe fill;
On bloudy Warre and Outrage bent.

Their wounding Tongues, like Serpents whet;
Poison of Asps their Lips inclose.
O save from fierce and Wicked Foes;
Who toiles, to overthrow me, set!

The Proud have hid their cords and snares;
Spread all their Nets; their Gins have laid.
To God, Thou art my God, I said;
O gently heare thy Suppliant's pray'rs.

My strong Preserver in the fight,
As with a Helme, my head defends.
Let not the Wicked gaine their ends;
Lord, lest their pride rise with their might.

Themselves let their owne Slanders wound:
Destroy Him who their fury leads.
Let burning coles fall on their heads;
And quenchlesse flames imbrace them round.

Cast them into the Depths below;
From thence, O never let them rise!
Let Death the Slanderer surprise;
And Mischiefe salvage Wrath o'rethrow.

God to th'Afflicted aid will give;
The Poore defend from Death and Shame.
The Just shall celebrate thy Name;
And ever in thy Presence live.