If for my sinnes Thine anger kindled bee, Lord! let not then Thy justice chastise mee; Thine arrowes fixèd in my fleshe doe stand, I feele the pressure of Thy heauie hand; I haue noe health Thine anger is soe much, My bones noe rest; my greiuous synne is such, My wickednes doth mount aboue my head And fallinge presse mee like a load of lead; My ulcers are corrupted and doe smell, Caus'd by my folly, which I blush to tell. I am with greife soe broken and soe torne, As I all day in heart and habit mourne. My loynes are fillèd with a sore desease, Noe parte of all my bodie feeleth ease; I am soe faint, soe feeble, and soe sore, As paine and anguish make mee crie and roare; Thou Lord! the longings of my heart dost see, My sighes and groanings are not hidd from Thee. My heart doth pant, my sinewes faile mee quite, My weepinge eyes haue lost their power of sight; Meane while, my freinds and neighbours they looke on, My nearest kinsmen farthest of[f] are gon: And they which seeke my life haue layed their snares And sett their trapps, to catch mee vnawares. They that to doe mee mischeife lye in wait, Doe plott and practise nothinge but deceit; But as for mee in silent patience I seemèd deafe and dumbe and voyde of sence; As one whose eare admitts not any sound, And in whose mouth there[222] is noe answeare found. For on the Lord I euermore rely, Though I stand mute, Thou shalt for mee replie: My suite is that my foes may not preuaile Who greatly joy to see my footinge faile; For in a place of stumblinge sett am I, My sad estate is still before mine eye; But I with sorrow will confesse my synne, And grieue that I offend my God therein; And yet my foes do liue and grow in might, They grow in numbers which do beare me spight. They which doe ill for good, doe hate mee too, Because I loue good turnes for ill to doe: Lord leaue mee not nor from mee farr depart, Saue mee with speede: for Thou my safety art. [Footnote 222: Miswritten 'their.' G.] PSALM XXXIX.