Psalm 59 (Eripe me de inimicis)

Save me from such as me assaile:
Let not my foes,
O God, against my life prevaile:
Save me from those
Who make a trade of cursed wrong,
And bred in bloud, for bloud doe long.

Of these one sort doe seeke, by sleight,
My overthrow:
The stronger part with open might
Against me goe,
And yet thou God my wittnes be,
From all offence my soule is free.

But what if I from fault am free?
Yet they are bent
To band and stand against poore me,
Poore innocent.
Rise, God, and see how these things goe,
And rescue me from instant woe.

Rise, God of armies, mighty God
Of Israel,
Looke on them all who spred abrode
On earth doe dwell,
And let thy hand no longer spare
Such as of malice wicked are.

When golden sun in west doth sett
Return'd againe,
As houndes that howle their food to gett
They runn amaine
The cittie through from street to street,
With hungry maw some prey to meet.

Night elder growne, their fittest day,
They babling prate,
How my left life extinguish may
Their deadly hate.
They prate and bable voide of feare,
For tush, saie they, who now can heare?

Even thou canst heare, and hearing scorne,
All that they say
For them (if not by thee upborne)
What props doe stay?
Then will I, as they wait for me,
O God, my fortresse, wait on thee.

Thou ever me with thy free grace
Prevented hast:
With thee my praier shall take place
Ere from me past.
And I shall see who me doe hate
Beyond my wish in wofull state.

For feare my people it forgett
Slay not outright,
But scatter them, and soe them sett
In open sight,
That by thy might they may be knowne,
Disgrac'd, debas'd, and overthrowne.

No witness of their wickednesse
I neede produce
But their owne lipps, fitt to expresse
Each vile abuse:
In cursing proud, proud when they ly,
O let them deare such pride aby.

At length, in rage, consume them soe,
That nought remayne:
Let them all beeing quite forgoe,
And make it playne,
That God, who Jacobs rule upholds,
Rules all, all-bearing earth enfolds.

Now thus they fare: when sun doth sett
Return'd againe,
As hounds that howle their food to gett,
They runn amayne
The city through from street to street,
With hungry mawes some prey to meet.

Abroad they range and hunt apace,
Now that, now this,
As famine trailes a hungry trace;
And though they miss,
Yet will they not to kennell hye,
But all the night at bay do lye.

But I will of thy goodness sing,
And of thy might,
When early sun againe shall bring
His cheerefull light;
For thou my refuge and my fort
In all distress dost mee support.

My strength doth of thy strength depend,
To thee I sing,
Thou art my fort, me to defend.
My God, my king,
To thee I owe, and thy free grace,
That free I rest in fearless place.