PSAL. LVII. ¶ To the chaunter, Destroye not Michiam of Da∣uid.
[ A] YF your myndes be vpon righteousnesse in dede, then iudge the thinge yt is right, O ye sonnes of men.
But ye ymagen myschefe in your hertes, & your handes deale with wyckednes.
The vngodly are frowarde, euen frō their mothers wombe: as soone as they be borne, they go a straye and speake lyes.
They are as furyous as the serpent, euen lyke the deaf Ader that stoppeth her eares.
That she shulde not heare the voyce of the charmer, charme he neuer so wysely.
Breake their teth (O God) in their mou∣thes, smyte the chaft bones of the Lyōs whel¦pes in sonder, O Lorde.
[ B] That they maye fall away, lyke the water that runneth a part: and that whē they shote their arowes, they maye be broken.
Let theym consume awaye lyke a snayle, & lyke the vntymely frute of a woman, and let them not se the sunne.
Or euer your thornes be sharpe, the wrath shall take them awaye quycke, lyke a stormy wynde.
The righteous shall reioyse when he seyth the vengeaunce, and shall wasshe his fete in the bloude of the vngodly.
So that men shall saye, verely there is a re¦warde for the righteous: doubtles, there is a God that iudgeth the earth.