Psalm 55 (Exaudi, Deus)

My God most glad to look, most prone to heere,
An open eare O let my praier find,
And from my plaint turne not thy face away;
Behold my gestures, hearken what I say
While uttering mones with most tormented mind:
My body I no lesse torment and teare,
For loe, their fearful threatnings wound mine eare,
Who griefs on griefs on me still heaping laie,
A mark to wrath, and hate, and wrong assign'd:
Therefore my hart hath all his force resign'd
To trembling paths, death terrors on me prey,
I feare, nay shake, nay quiv'ring quake with feare.

Then say I, O might I but cutt the wind
Born on the wings the fearfull dove doth beare,
Stay would I not till I in rest might stay;
Far hence, O far, then would I take my way
Unto the desert, and repose me there.
These stormes of woe, these tempests left behind,
But swallow them, O Lord, in darkness blind,
Confound their councells, leade their tongues astray,
That what they meane by wordes may not appeare,
For mother wrong within their townes each where,
And daughter strife their ensignes so display,
As if they only thither were confin'd.

These walk their citie walles both night and day,
Oppressions, tumults, guiles of every kind
Are burgesses, and dwell the middle neere,
About their streetes his masking robes doth weare
Mischief cloth'd in deceit with treason lin'd,
Where only he, he only beares the sway:
But not my foe with mee this pranck did play,
For then I would have borne with patient cheere
An unkind part from whom I know unkind.
Nor hee whose forehead envies mark had sign'd,
His trophies on my ruins sought to reare,
From whom to fly I might have made assay.

But this to thee, to thee impute I may,
My fellow my companion held most deere,
My soule, my other self, my inward friend,
Whom unto me, me unto whom did bind
Exchanged secrets, who together were
Gods temple wont to visit, there to pray.
O lett a soddaine death work their decay,
Who speaking faire such canckred malice mind,
Let them be buried breathing in theyr beare,
But purple morn, black ev'n, and midday cleare,
Shall see my praying voice to God enclin'd,
Rowzing him up, and nought shall me dismay.

He ransom'd me, he for my safetie fin'd
In fight, where many sought my soule to slay,
He still him self (to no succeeding heire
Leaving his empire) shall no more forbeare:
But at my motion all these Atheists pay,
By whom (still one) such mischiefs are design'd,
Who but such caitives would have undermin'd,
Nay, overthrowne, from whome but kindnes mere
They never found? who would such trust betray?
What butterd wordes! yet wars their harts bewray,
Their speach more sharp then sharpest sword or speare,
Yet softer flowes then balme from wounded rind.

But my ore loaden soule thy selfe upcheare,
Cast on Gods shoulders what thee down doth waigh,
Long borne by thee with bearing pain'd and pin'd,
To care for thee he shall be ever kinde,
By him the just in safety held allway:
Chaunglesse shall enter, live, and leave the yeare;
But, Lord, how long shall these men tarry here?
Fling them in pitt of death where never shin'd
The light of life, and while I make my stay
On thee; let who their thirst with bloud allay
Have their life-holding threed so weakly twin'd
That it half spunne, death may in sunder sheare.