Psalm 58 (Si vere utique)

And call yee this to utter what is just,
You that of justice hold the sov'raign throne?
And call yee this to yield, O sonnes of dust,
To wronged brethren ev'ry one his own?
O no: it is your long malicious will
Now to the world to make by practice known,
With whose oppression you the ballance fill,
Just to your selves, indiff'rent else to none.

But what could they, who ev'n in birth declin'd,
From truth and right to lies and injuries?
To shew the venom of their cancred mynd
The adders image scarcely can suffice.
Nay, scarce the aspick may with them contend,
On whom the charmer all in vaine applies
His skillful'st spells: ay, missing of his end,
While shee self-deaf, and unaffected lies.

Lord, crack their teeth, Lord, crush these lions jawes,
Soe lett them sinck as water in the sand:
When deadly bow their aiming fury drawes,
Shiver the shaft ere past the shooters hand.
So make them melt as the dishowsed snaile,
Or as the embrio, whose vitall band
Breakes ere it holdes, and formlesse eyes doe faile
To see the sun, though brought to lightfull land.

O let their brood, a brood of springing thornes,
Be by untymely rooting overthrowne
Ere bushes waxt, they push with pricking homes,
As fruites yet greene are oft by tempest blowne.
The good with gladnes this revenge shall see,
And bath his feete in bloud of wicked one:
While all shall say, the just rewarded be,
There is a God that shares to each his own.