Psalm 141 (Domine, clamavi)

To thee, Jehova, thee I lift my cryeng voice,
O banish all delay, and lett my plaintfull noise
By thy quick-hearing-eare be carefully respected.
As sweete perfume to skies, lett what I pray ascend:
Lett these uplifted hands, which prayeng, I extend,
As ev'ning sacrifice be unto thee directed.

Ward well my words, O Lord, (for that it is I pray)
A watchfull sentinell at my mouthes passage lay:
At wickett of my lipps stand ay a faithfull porter,
Incline me not to ill, nor lett me loosely goe
A mate in work with such, whence no good work doth grow,
And in their flattring hartes, lett me be no consorter.

But lett the good-man wound, most well I shall it take,
Yea price of his rebukes as deerest balme shall make,
Yea more shall for him pray, the more his words do grieve me,
And as for these, when once the leaders of their crue
By thee be brought to stoope, my wordes most sweetly true
Shall in the rest so worke that soon they shall believe me.

Mean while my bones the grave, the grave expects my bones,
Soe broken, hewn, disperst, as least respected stones,
By careless mason drawn from cave of worthless quarry:
But thou, O Lord, my Lord, since thus thy servants ey
Repleat with hopefull trust doth on thy help rely,
Faile not that trustfull hope, that for thy helpe doth tarry.

O soe direct my feete they may escape the hands
Of their entangling snare, which for me pitched stands:
And from the wicked netts for me with craft they cover.
Nay for these fowlers once, thy self a fowler be,
And make them foully fall where netts are laid by thee,
But where for me they lay, let me leap freely over.