The Doctors

Thy sacred Academic aboveOf Doctors, whose paines have unclasp'd, and taughtBoth bookes of life to us (for loveTo know thy Scriptures tells us, we are wroteIn thy other booke) pray for us thereThat what they have misdoneOr mis-said, wee to that may not adhere;Their zeale may be our sinne. Lord let us runneMeane waies, and call them stars, but not the Sunne.

And whil'st this universall Quire,That Church in triumph, this in warfare here,Warm'd with one all-partaking fireOf love, that none be lost, which cost thee deare,Prayes ceaslesly,'and thou hearken too,(Since to be gratiousOur taske is treble, to pray, beare, and doe)Heare this prayer Lord: O Lord deliver usFrom trusting in those prayers, though powr'd out thus.

From being anxious, or secure,Dead clods of sadnesse, or light squibs of mirth,From thinking, that great courts immureAll, or no happinesse, or that this earthIs only for our prison fram'd,Or that thou art covetousTo them whom thou lovest, or that they are maim'dFrom reaching this worlds sweet, who seek thee thus,With all their might, Good Lord deliver us.

From needing danger, to bee good,From owing thee yesterdaies teares to day,From trusting so much to thy blood,That in that hope, wee wound our soule away,From bribing thee with Almes, to excuseSome sinne more burdenous,From light affecting, in religion, newes,From thinking us all soule, neglecting thusOur mutuall duties, Lord deliver us.

From tempting Satan to tempt us,By our connivence, or slack companie,From measuring ill by vitious,Neglecting to choake sins spawne, Vanitie,From indiscreet humilitie,Which might be scandalous,And cast reproach on Christianitie,From being spies, or to spies pervious,From thirst, or scorne of fame, deliver us.

Deliver us for thy descentInto the Virgin, whose wombe was a placeOf middle kind; and thou being sentTo'ungratious us, staid'st at her full of grace;And through thy poore birth, where first thouGlorifiedst Povertie,And yet soone after riches didst allow,By accepting Kings gifts in the Epiphanie,Deliver, and make us, to both waies free.

And through that bitter agonie,Which is still the agonie of pious wits,Disputing what distorted thee,And interrupted evennesse, with fits;And through thy free confessionThough thereby they were thenMade blind, so that thou might'st from them have gone,Good Lord deliver us, and teach us whenWee may not, and we may blinde unjust men.

Through thy submitting all, to blowesThy face, thy clothes to spoile; thy fame to scorne,All waies, which rage, or Justice knowes,And by which thou could'st shew, that thou wast born;And through thy gallant humblenesseWhich thou in death did'st shew,Dying before thy soule they could expresse,Deliver us from death, by dying so,To this world, ere this world doe bid us goe.

When senses, which thy souldiers are,Wee arme against thee, and they fight for sinne,When want, sent but to tame, doth warreAnd worke despaire a breach to enter in,When plenty, Gods image, and sealeMakes us Idolatrous,And love it, not him, whom it should reveale,When wee are mov'd to seeme religiousOnly to vent wit, Lord deliver us.

In Churches, when the'infirmitieOf him which speakes, diminishes the Word,When Magistrates doe mis-applyTo us, as we judge, lay or ghostly sword,When plague, which is thine Angell, raignes,Or wars, thy Champions, swaie,When Heresie, thy second deluge, gaines;In th'houre of death, the'Eve of last judgement day,Deliver us from the sinister way.

Heare us, O heare us Lord; to theeA sinner is more musique, when he prayes,Then spheares, or Angels praises bee,In Panegyrique Allelujaes;Heare us, for till thou heare us, LordWe know not what to say;Thine eare to'our sighes, teares, thoughts gives voice and word.O Thou who Satan heard'st in Jobs sicke day,Heare thy selfe now, for thou in us dost pray.

That wee may change to evennesseThis intermitting aguish Pietie;That snatching cramps of wickednesseAnd Apoplexies of fast sin, may die;That musique of thy promises,Not threats in Thunder mayAwaken us to our just offices;What in thy booke, thou dost, or creatures say,That we may heare, Lord heare us, when wee pray.

That our eares sicknesse wee may cure,And rectifie those Labyrinths aright,That wee, by harkning, not procureOur praise, nor others dispraise so invite,That wee get not a slipperinesseAnd senslesly decline,From hearing bold wits jeast at Kings excesse,To'admit the like of majestie divine,That we may locke our eares, Lord open thine.

That living law, the Magistrate,Which to give us, and make us physicke, dothOur vices often aggravate,That Preachers taxing sinne, before her growth,That Satan, and invenom'd menWhich well, if we starve, dine,When they doe most accuse us, may see thenUs, to amendment, heare them; thee decline:That we may open our eares, Lord lock thine.

That learning, thine Ambassador,From thine allegeance wee never tempt,That beauty, paradises flowerFor physicke made, from poyson be exempt,That wit, borne apt high good to doe,By dwelling lazilyOn Natures nothing, be not nothing too,That our affections kill us not, nor dye,Heare us, weake ecchoes, O thou eare, and cry.

Sonne of God heare us, and since thouBy taking our blood, owest it us againe,Gaine to thy self, or us allow;And let not both us and thy selfe be slaine;O Lambe of God, which took'st our sinneWhich could not stick to thee,O let it not returne to us againe,But Patient and Physition being free,As sinne is nothing, let it no where be.

O'F reads eye, and TCC alters crye to eye, all

Eternall God, (for whom who ever dareSeeke new expressions, doe the Circle square,And thrust into strait corners of poore witThee, who art cornerlesse and infinite)I would but blesse thy Name, not name thee now;(And thy gifts are as infinite as thou:)Fixe we our prayses therefore on this one,That, as thy blessed Spirit fell uponThese Psalmes first Author in a cloven tongue;(For 'twas a double power by which he sungThe highest matter in the noblest forme;)So thou hast cleft that spirit, to performeThat worke againe, and shed it, here, uponTwo, by their bloods, and by thy Spirit one;A Brother and a Sister, made by theeThe Organ, where thou art the Harmony.Two that make one Iohn Baptists holy voyce,And who that Psalme, Now let the Iles rejoyce,Have both translated, and apply'd it too,Both told us what, and taught us how to doe.They shew us Ilanders our joy, our King,They tell us why, and teach us how to sing;Make all this All, three Quires, heaven, earth, and sphears;The first, Heaven, hath a song, but no man heares,The Spheares have Musick, but they have no tongue,Their harmony is rather danc'd than sung;But our third Quire, to which the first gives eare,(For, Angels learne by what the Church does here)This Quire hath all. The Organist is heeWho hath tun'd God and Man, the Organ we:The songs are these, which heavens high holy MuseWhisper'd to David, David to the Iewes:And Davids Successors, in holy zeale,In formes of joy and art doe re-revealeTo us so sweetly and sincerely too,That I must not rejoyce as I would doeWhen I behold that these Psalmes are becomeSo well attyr'd abroad, so ill at home,So well in Chambers, in thy Church so ill,As I can scarce call that reform'd untillThis be reform'd; Would a whole State presentA lesser gift than some one man hath sent?And shall our Church, unto our Spouse and KingMore hoarse, more harm than any other, sing?For that we pray, we praise thy name for this,Which, by this Moses and this Miriam, isAlready done; and as those Psalmes we call(Though some have other Authors) Davids all:So though some have, some may some Psalmes translate,We thy Sydnean Psalmes shall celebrate,And, till we come th'Extemporall song to sing,(Learn'd the first hower, that we see the King,Who hath translated those translators) mayThese their sweet learned labours, all the wayBe as our tuning; that, when hence we part,We may fall in with them, and sing our part.

Vengeance will sit above our faults; but tillShe there doth sit,We see her not, nor them. Thus, blinde, yet stillWe leade her way; and thus, whil'st we doe ill,We suffer it.

Vnhappy he, whom youth makes not bewareOf doing ill.Enough we labour under age, and care;In number, th'errours of the last place, areThe greatest still.

Yet we, that should the ill we now beginAs soone repent,(Strange thing!) perceive not; our faults are not seen,But past us; neither felt, but onely inThe punishment.

But we know our selves least; Mere outward shewsOur mindes so store,That our soules, no more than our eyes discloseBut forme and colour. Onely he who knowesHimselfe, knowes more.

Thou, whose diviner soule hath caus'd thee nowTo put thy hand unto the holy Plough,Making Lay-scornings of the Ministry,Not an impediment, but victory;What bringst thou home with thee? how is thy mindAffected since the vintage? Dost thou findeNew thoughts and stirrings in thee? and as SteeleToucht with a Loadstone, dost new motions feele?Or, as a Ship after much paine and care,For Iron and Cloth brings home rich Indian ware,Hast thou thus traffiqu'd, but with farre more gaineOf noble goods, and with lesse time and paine?Thou art the same materials, as before,Onely the stampe is changed; but no more.And as new crowned Kings alter the face,But not the monies substance; so hath graceChang'd onely Gods old Image by Creation,To Christs new stampe, at this thy Coronation;Or, as we paint Angels with wings, becauseThey beare Gods message, and proclaime his lawes,Since thou must doe the like, and so must move,Art thou new feather'd with cœlestiall love?Deare, tell me where thy purchase lies, and shewWhat thy advantage is above, below.But if thy gainings doe surmount expression,Why doth the foolish world scorne that profession,Whose joyes passe speech? Why do they think unfitThat Gentry should joyne families with it?As if their day were onely to be spentIn dressing, Mistressing and complement;Alas poore joyes, but poorer men, whose trustSeemes richly placed in sublimed dust;(For, such are cloathes and beauty, which though gay,Are, at the best, but of sublimed clay.)Let then the world thy calling disrespect,But goe thou on, and pitty their neglect.What function is so noble, as to beeEmbassadour to God and destinie?To open life, to give kingdomes to moreThan Kings give dignities; to keepe heavens doore?Maries prerogative was to beare Christ, so'Tis preachers to convey him, for they doeAs Angels out of clouds, from Pulpits speake;And blesse the poore beneath, the lame, the weake.If then th'Astronomers, whereas they spieA new-found Starre, their Opticks magnifie,How brave are those, who with their Engine, canBring man to heaven, and heaven againe to man?These are thy titles and preheminences,In whom must meet Gods graces, mens offences,And so the heavens which beget all things here,And the earth our mother, which these things doth beare,Both these in thee, are in thy Calling knit,And make thee now a blest Hermaphrodite.

In what torne ship soever I embarke,That ship shall be my embleme of thy Arke;What sea soever swallow mee, that floodShall be to mee an embleme of thy blood;Though thou with clouds of anger do disguiseThy race; yet through that maske I know those eyes,Which, though they turne away sometimes,They never will despise.

I sacrifice this Iland unto thee,And all whom I lov'd there, and who lov'd mee;When I have put our seas twixt them and mee,Put thou thy sea betwixt my sinnes and thee.As the trees sap doth seeke the root belowIn winter, in my winter now I goe,Where none but thee, th'Eternall rootOf true Love I may know.

Nor thou nor thy religion dost controule,The amorousnesse of an harmonious Soule,But thou would'st have that love thy selfe: As thouArt jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now,Thou lov'st not, till from loving more, thou freeMy soule: Who ever gives, takes libertie:O, if thou car'st not whom I loveAlas, thou lov'st not mee.

Seale then this bill of my Divorce to All,On whom those fainter beames of love did fall;Marry those loves, which in youth scattered beeOn Fame, Wit, Hopes (false mistresses) to thee.Churches are best for Prayer, that have least light:To see God only, I goe out of sight:And to scape stormy dayes, I chuseAn Everlasting night.

TCC, TCD: At his going with my Lord of Doncaster 1619.

The Lamentations of Ieremy, for the most part according toTremelius.

How sits this citie, late most populous,Thus solitary, and like a widdow thus!Amplest of Nations, Queene of ProvincesShe was, who now thus tributary is!

Still in the night shee weepes, and her teares fallDowne by her cheekes along, and none of allHer lovers comfort her; PerfidiouslyHer friends have dealt, and now are enemie.

Unto great bondage, and afflictionsJuda is captive led; Those nationsWith whom shee dwells, no place of rest afford,In streights shee meets her Persecutors sword.

Emptie are the gates of Sion, and her waiesMourne, because none come to her solemne dayes.Her Priests doe groane, her maides are comfortlesse,And shee's unto her selfe a bitternesse.

Her foes are growne her head, and live at Peace,Because when her transgressions did increase,The Lord strooke her with sadnesse: Th'enemieDoth drive her children to captivitie.

From Sions daughter is all beauty gone,Like Harts, which seeke for Pasture, and find none,Her Princes are, and now before the foeWhich still pursues them, without strength they go.

Now in her daies of Teares, Jerusalem(Her men slaine by the foe, none succouring them)Remembers what of old, shee esteemed most,Whilest her foes laugh at her, for what she hath lost.

Jerusalem hath sinn'd, therefore is sheeRemov'd, as women in uncleannesse bee;Who honor'd, scorne her, for her foulnesse theyHave seene; her selfe doth groane, and turne away.

Her foulnesse in her skirts was seene, yet sheRemembred not her end; MiraculouslyTherefore shee fell, none comforting: BeholdO Lord my affliction, for the Foe growes bold.

Upon all things where her delight hath beene,The foe hath stretch'd his hand, for shee hath seeneHeathen, whom thou command'st, should not doe so,Into her holy Sanctuary goe.

And all her people groane, and seeke for bread;And they have given, only to be fed,All precious things, wherein their pleasure lay:How cheape I'am growne, O Lord, behold, and weigh.

All this concernes not you, who passe by mee,O see, and marke if any sorrow beeLike to my sorrow, which Jehova hathDone to mee in the day of his fierce wrath?

That fire, which by himselfe is governedHe hath cast from heaven on my bones, and spredA net before my feet, and mee o'rthrowne,And made me languish all the day alone.

His hand hath of my sinnes framed a yoakeWhich wreath'd, and cast upon my neck, hath brokeMy strength. The Lord unto those enemiesHath given mee, from whom I cannot rise.

He under foot hath troden in my sightMy strong men; He did company inviteTo breake my young men; he the winepresse hathTrod upon Juda's daughter in his wrath.

For these things doe I weepe, mine eye, mine eyeCasts water out; For he which should be nighTo comfort mee, is now departed farre;The foe prevailes, forlorne my children are.

There's none, though Sion do stretch out her hand,To comfort her, it is the Lords commandThat Iacobs foes girt him. IerusalemIs as an uncleane woman amongst them.

But yet the Lord is just, and righteous still,I have rebell'd against his holy will;O heare all people, and my sorrow see,My maides, my young men in captivitie.

I called for my lovers then, but theyDeceiv'd mee, and my Priests, and Elders layDead in the citie; for they sought for meatWhich should refresh their soules, they could not get.

Because I am in streights, Iehova seeMy heart o'rturn'd, my bowells muddy bee,Because I have rebell'd so much, as fastThe sword without, as death within, doth wast.

Of all which heare I mourne, none comforts mee,My foes have heard my griefe, and glad they be,That thou hast done it; But thy promis'd dayWill come, when, as I suffer, so shall they.

Let all their wickednesse appeare to thee,Doe unto them, as thou hast done to mee,For all my sinnes: The sighs which I have hadAre very many, and my heart is sad.

How over Sions daughter hath God hungHis wraths thicke cloud! and from heaven hath flungTo earth the beauty of Israel, and hathForgot his foot-stoole in the day of wrath!

The Lord unsparingly hath swallowedAll Jacobs dwellings, and demolishedTo ground the strengths of Iuda, and prophan'dThe Princes of the Kingdome, and the land.

In heat of wrath, the horne of Israel heeHath cleane cut off, and lest the enemieBe hindred, his right hand he doth retire,But is towards Iacob, All-devouring fire.

Like to an enemie he bent his bow,His right hand was in posture of a foe,To kill what Sions daughter did desire,'Gainst whom his wrath, he poured forth, like fire.

For like an enemie Iehova is,Devouring Israel, and his Palaces,Destroying holds, giving additionsTo Iuda's daughters lamentations.

Like to a garden hedge he hath cast downeThe place where was his congregation,And Sions feasts and sabbaths are forgot;Her King, her Priest, his wrath regardeth not.

The Lord forsakes his Altar, and detestsHis Sanctuary, and in the foes hand restsHis Palace, and the walls, in which their criesAre heard, as in the true solemnities.

The Lord hath cast a line, so to confoundAnd levell Sions walls unto the ground;He drawes not back his hand, which doth oreturneThe wall, and Rampart, which together mourne.

Their gates are sunke into the ground, and heeHath broke the barres; their King and Princes beeAmongst the heathen, without law, nor thereUnto their Prophets doth the Lord appeare.

There Sions Elders on the ground are plac'd,And silence keepe; Dust on their heads they cast,In sackcloth have they girt themselves, and lowThe Virgins towards ground, their heads do throw.

My bowells are growne muddy, and mine eyesAre faint with weeping: and my liver liesPour'd out upon the ground, for miserieThat sucking children in the streets doe die.

When they had cryed unto their Mothers, whereShall we have bread, and drinke? they fainted there,And in the streets like wounded persons layTill 'twixt their mothers breasts they went away.

Daughter Ierusalem, Oh what may beeA witnesse, or comparison for thee?Sion, to ease thee, what shall I name like thee?Thy breach is like the sea, what help can bee?

For thee vaine foolish things thy Prophets sought,Thee, thine iniquities they have not taught,Which might disturne thy bondage: but for theeFalse burthens, and false causes they would see.

The passengers doe clap their hands, and hisse,And wag their head at thee, and say, Is thisThat citie, which so many men did callJoy of the earth, and perfectest of all?

Thy foes doe gape upon thee, and they hisse,And gnash their teeth, and say, Devoure wee this,For this is certainly the day which weeExpected, and which now we finde, and see.

The Lord hath done that which he purposed,Fulfill'd his word of old determined;He hath throwne downe, and not spar'd, and thy foeMade glad above thee, and advanc'd him so.

But now, their hearts against the Lord do call,Therefore, O walls of Sion, let teares fallDowne like a river, day and night; take theeNo rest, but let thine eye incessant be.

Arise, cry in the night, poure, for thy sinnes,Thy heart, like water, when the watch begins;Lift up thy hands to God, lest children dye,Which, faint for hunger, in the streets doe lye.

Behold O Lord, consider unto whomThou hast done this; what, shall the women comeTo eate their children of a spanne? shall thyProphet and Priest be slaine in Sanctuary?

On ground in streets, the yong and old do lye,My virgins and yong men by sword do dye;Them in the day of thy wrath thou hast slaine,Nothing did thee from killing them containe.

As to a solemne feast, all whom I fear'dThou call'st about mee; when his wrath appear'd,None did remaine or scape, for those which IBrought up, did perish by mine enemie.

I am the man which have affliction seene,Under the rod of Gods wrath having beene,He hath led mee to darknesse, not to light,And against mee all day, his hand doth fight.

Hee hath broke my bones, worne out my flesh and skinne,Built up against mee; and hath girt mee inWith hemlocke, and with labour; 6 and set meeIn darke, as they who dead for ever bee.

Hee hath hedg'd me lest I scape, and added moreTo my steele fetters, heavier then before.When I crie out, he out shuts my prayer: 9 And hathStop'd with hewn stone my way, and turn'd my path.

And like a Lion hid in secrecie,Or Beare which lyes in wait, he was to mee.He stops my way, teares me, made desolate,And hee makes mee the marke he shooteth at.

Hee made the children of his quiver passeInto my reines, 14 I with my people wasAll the day long, a song and mockery.Hee hath fill'd mee with bitternesse, and he

Hath made me drunke with wormewood. 16 He hath burstMy teeth with stones, and covered mee with dust;And thus my Soule farre off from peace was set,And my prosperity I did forget.

My strength, my hope (unto my selfe I said)Which from the Lord should come, is perished.But when my mournings I do thinke upon,My wormwood, hemlocke, and affliction,

My Soule is humbled in remembring this;My heart considers, therefore, hope there is.'Tis Gods great mercy we'are not utterlyConsum'd, for his compassions do not die;

For every morning they renewed bee,For great, O Lord, is thy fidelity.The Lord is, saith my Soule, my portion,And therefore in him will I hope alone.

The Lord is good to them, who on him relie,And to the Soule that seeks him earnestly.It is both good to trust, and to attend(The Lords salvation) unto the end:

'Tis good for one his yoake in youth to beare;He sits alone, and doth all speech forbeare,Because he hath borne it. 29 And his mouth he layesDeepe in the dust, yet then in hope he stayes.

He gives his cheekes to whosoever willStrike him, and so he is reproched still.For, not for ever doth the Lord forsake,But when he'hath strucke with sadnes, hee doth take

Compassion, as his mercy'is infinite;Nor is it with his heart, that he doth smite;That underfoot the prisoners stamped bee,That a mans right the Judge himselfe doth see

To be wrung from him, 36 That he subverted isIn his just cause; the Lord allowes not this.Who then will say, that ought doth come to passe,But that which by the Lord commanded was?

Both good and evill from his mouth proceeds;Why then grieves any man for his misdeeds?Turne wee to God, by trying out our wayes;To him in heaven, our hands with hearts upraise.

Wee have rebell'd, and falne away from thee,Thou pardon'st not; 43 Usest no clemencie;Pursuest us, kill'st us, coverest us with wrath,Cover'st thy selfe with clouds, that our prayer hath

No power to passe. 45 And thou hast made us fallAs refuse, and off-scouring to them all.All our foes gape at us. 47 Feare and a snareWith ruine, and with waste, upon us are.

With watry rivers doth mine eye oreflowFor ruine of my peoples daughter so;Mine eye doth drop downe teares incessantly,Untill the Lord looke downe from heaven to see.

And for my citys daughters sake, mine eyeDoth breake mine heart. 52 Causles mine enemy,Like a bird chac'd me. 53 In a dungeonThey have shut my life, and cast on me a stone.

Waters flow'd o'r my head, then thought I, I amDestroy'd; 55 I called Lord, upon thy nameOut of the pit. 56 And thou my voice didst heare;Oh from my sigh, and crye, stop not thine eare.

Then when I call'd upon thee, thou drew'st nereUnto mee, and said'st unto mee, do not feare.Thou Lord my Soules cause handled hast, and thouRescud'st my life. 59 O Lord do thou judge now,

I am their song, whether they rise or sit,Give them rewards Lord, for their working fit,Sorrow of heart, thy curse. 66 And with thy mightFollow, and from under heaven destroy them quite.

How is the gold become so dimme? How isPurest and finest gold thus chang'd to this?The stones which were stones of the Sanctuary,Scattered in corners of each street do lye.

The pretious sonnes of Sion, which should beeValued at purest gold, how do wee seeLow rated now, as earthen Pitchers, stand,Which are the worke of a poore Potters hand.

Even the Sea-calfes draw their brests, and giveSucke to their young; my peoples daughters live,By reason of the foes great cruelnesse,As do the Owles in the vast Wildernesse.

And when the sucking child doth strive to draw,His tongue for thirst cleaves to his upper jaw.And when for bread the little children crye,There is no man that doth them satisfie.

They which before were delicately fed,Now in the streets forlorne have perished,And they which ever were in scarlet cloath'd,Sit and embrace the dunghills which they loath'd.

The daughters of my people have sinned more,Then did the towne of Sodome sinne before;Which being at once destroy'd, there did remaineNo hands amongst them, to vexe them againe.

But heretofore purer her NazariteWas then the snow, and milke was not so white;As carbuncles did their pure bodies shine,And all their polish'dnesse was Saphirine.

They are darker now then blacknes, none can knowThem by the face, as through the streets they goe,For now their skin doth cleave unto the bone,And withered, is like to dry wood growne.

Better by sword then famine 'tis to dye;And better through pierc'd, then through penury.Women by nature pitifull, have eateTheir children drest with their owne hands for meat.

Iehova here fully accomplish'd hathHis indignation, and powr'd forth his wrath,Kindled a fire in Sion, which hath powerTo eate, and her foundations to devour.

Nor would the Kings of the earth, nor all which liveIn the inhabitable world beleeve,That any adversary, any foeInto Ierusalem should enter so.

For the Priests sins, and Prophets, which have shedBlood in the streets, and the just murthered:Which when those men, whom they made blinde, did strayThorough the streets, defiled by the way

With blood, the which impossible it wasTheir garments should scape touching, as they passe,Would cry aloud, depart defiled men,Depart, depart, and touch us not; and then

They fled, and strayd, and with the Gentiles were,Yet told their friends, they should not long dwell there;For this they are scattered by Jehovahs faceWho never will regard them more; No grace

Unto their old men shall the foe afford,Nor, that they are Priests, redeeme them from the sword.And wee as yet, for all these miseriesDesiring our vaine helpe, consume our eyes:

And such a nation as cannot save,We in desire and speculation have.They hunt our steps, that in the streets wee feareTo goe: our end is now approached neere,

Our dayes accomplish'd are, this the last day.Eagles of heaven are not so swift as theyWhich follow us, o'r mountaine tops they flyeAt us, and for us in the desart lye.

The annointed Lord, breath of our nostrils, heeOf whom we said, under his shadow, weeShall with more ease under the Heathen dwell,Into the pit which these men digged, fell.

Rejoyce O Edoms daughter, joyfull beeThou which inhabitst Huz, for unto theeThis cup shall passe, and thou with drunkennesseShalt fill thy selfe, and shew thy nakednesse.

And then thy sinnes O Sion, shall be spent,The Lord will not leave thee in banishment.Thy sinnes O Edoms daughter, hee will see,And for them, pay thee with captivitie.

Remember, O Lord, what is fallen on us;See, and marke how we are reproached thus,For unto strangers our possessionIs turn'd, our houses unto Aliens gone,

Our mothers are become as widowes, weeAs Orphans all, and without father be;Waters which are our owne, wee drunke, and pay,And upon our owne wood a price they lay.

Our persecutors on our necks do sit,They make us travaile, and not intermit,We stretch our hands unto th'EgyptiansTo get us bread; and to the Assyrians.

Our Fathers did these sinnes, and are no more,But wee do beare the sinnes they did before.They are but servants, which do rule us thus,Yet from their hands none would deliver us.

With danger of our life our bread wee gat;For in the wildernesse, the sword did wait.The tempests of this famine wee liv'd in,Black as an Oven colour'd had our skinne:

In Iudaes cities they the maids abus'dBy force, and so women in Sion us'd.The Princes with their hands they hung; no graceNor honour gave they to the Elders face.

Unto the mill our yong men carried are,And children fell under the wood they bare.Elders, the gates; youth did their songs forbeare,Gone was our joy; our dancings, mournings were.

Now is the crowne falne from our head; and woeBe unto us, because we'have sinned so.For this our hearts do languish, and for thisOver our eyes a cloudy dimnesse is.

Because mount Sion desolate doth lye,And foxes there do goe at libertie:But thou O Lord art ever, and thy throneFrom generation, to generation.

Why should'st thou forget us eternally?Or leave us thus long in this misery?Restore us Lord to thee, that so we mayReturne, and as of old, renew our day.

Vulg for Vulgate. See note: full-stops after