Psalm 53 (Dixit insipiens)

There is no God, the foole doth saie,
If not in word, in thought and will:
This fancie rotten deedes bewraie,
And studies fixt on lothsome ill.
Not one doth good: from heav'nlie hill,
Jehovas eye one wiser minde
Could not discerne, that held the waie
To understand, and God to finde.

They all have strai'd, are cancred all:
Not one I saie, not one doth good.
But senslesnes, what should I call
Such carriage of this cursed brood?
My people are their bread, their food,
Upon my name they scorn to cry;
Whome vaine affright doth yet appall,
Where no just ground of feare doth ly.

But on their bones shall wreaked be
All thy invaders force and guile,
In vile confusion cast by thee,
For God him self shall make them vile.
Ah! why delaies that happy while,
When Sun shall our saver bring?
The Lord his folk will one daie free,
Then Jacobs house shall daunce and sing.