The Third Penitential Psalm (Psalm 38)

This song endid David did stint his voyce,
And in that while abowt he with his lye,
Did seke the Cave with wich withouten noyce,
His sylence semid to argew and replye ;
Apon this pees, this pees, that did rejoyce
The sowle with mercy, that mercy so did crye,
And fownd mercy at mercyes plentiful! hand,
Never denid but whre it was withstand.

As the servant that in his masters face
Fyndyth pardon of his passid offence,
Consyderyng his gret goodnes and his grace.
Glad teris distills as gladsome recompense ;
Ryght so David, that semid in that place
As marble ymage of singulor reverence,
Carffd in the rokk : with lyes and handes on hygh
Made as by crafft to plaine, to sobbe, to sygh.

This while a heme that bryght sonne forth sendes,
That Sonne the wich was never cloud cowd hide,
Percyth the cave and on the harpe distendes,
Whose glauncyng light the cordes did over glyde :
And such luyster apon the harpe extendes,
As lyght off lampe apon the gold clene tryde,
The torne wheroff in to his lyes did stert,
Surprisd with Joye, by penance of the hert.

He then inflamd with farr more bote affect,
Of God than he was erst off Bersabe,
His lifft fote did on the yerth erect.
And just therby remaynth the tothr kne ;
To his lifft syde his wayght he doth direct,
Sure hope of helth, and harpe agayne takth he.
His hand, his tune, his mynd, sowght his lay,
Wych to the Lord with sobre voyce did say.

Lord as I thee have both prayd and pray,
(Ahho in the be no alteration
But that we men lik as our sellffes we say

Mesuryng thy Justice by our mutations)
Chastice me not, O Lord, in thy furour,
Nor me correct in wrathfull castigation,

Ffor that thi arrows off fere, off terrour,
Of sword, of seknes, off famine, and of fyre,
Stikkes diepe in me, I lo from myn errour

Ame plongid up, as horse out of the myre
With strok off spurr, such is thi hand on me;
That in my fleshe, for terrour of thi yre

Is not oon poynt of ferme stabilite
Nor in my bonis; there is no stedfastnes.
Such is my drede of mutabilite;

Ffor that I know my frailefull wykednes;
For why, my sinns above my hed ar bownd.
Lik hevi wheyght that doth my force oppresse ;

Under the wych I stowp and bowe to grownd
As whilow plant, haled by vyolence ;
And off my flesh ech not well curyd wound

That festred is by foly, and neclegens,
By secret lust hath ranklyd under skyn.
Not duly curyd by my penitence.

Perceyving thus the tyranny off sin,
That with his wheit hath humblid and deprest
My pryd, by gruging off the worme within

That never dyth, I lyve withouten rest;
So ar myn entrayles infect with fervent sore,
Fedyng the harme that hath my welth oprest;

That in my flesh is lefft no helth therf ore ;
So wondrus gret hath bene my vexation.
That it hath forst my hart to crye and rore.

O Lord thow knowst the' inward contemplation,
Off my desire ; thou knowst my syghes and plaintes ;
Thou knowst the teres of my lamentation

Can not expresse my hertes inward restraintes;
My hart pantyth, my force I fele it quaile
My syght, myn lyes, my lok, dekays and fayntes;

I And when my enmys did me most assayle,
My frendes most sure, wherein I sett most trust,
Myn own vertus sonest then did ffaile

And stond apart ; reson and witt unjust,
As kyn, unkynd, were fardest gone at nede ;
So had they place theire venim out to thrust

That sowght my deth by nowghty word and dede,
Their tonges reproch, theire wittes did fraude aplye
And I, lyke deffh and domme forth my way yede,

Lyk one that heris not, nor hath to replye
One word agayne, and knowyng that from thi hand
Thes thinges procede ; thow O Lorde shalt supplye

My trust in The wherein I stikk and stand.
Yet have I had gret cawse to dred and fere
That thou woldst gyve my ffoos the over hand,

Ffor in my ffall they shewd suche plesant chere,
And ther with all I alway in the lash
Abyd the strok, and with me everywhere

I here my fawte that gretly doth abashe
My dowlfull chere; ffor I my fawt confesse
And my desert doth all my comffort dashe.

In the mene while myn Enmys saffe encresse,
And my provokars herby do augment
That with out cause to hurt me do not cesse ;

In evill for good agaynst me they be bent,
And hinder shall my good persuyt off grace,
Lo, now my God, that seist my hole intent

My Lord ! I ame thow knowst well in what case ;
Fforsak me not, be not farr from me gone ;
Hast to my help, hast Lord and hast apace,

O Lord the Lord off all my helth alone !