Home Lost Spaces Laocoön Lives Thomas Fairfax Publications Contact


Psal 10 (MS. Fairfax 40, The Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford)


MS. Fairfax 40 index
<< Psal 9
Psal 11 >>
Psal 10
Psal 10
Psal 10
Psal 10
"Psal 10". MS. Fairfax 40, The Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford.

Transcription

Thy presence Lord doth seemes to stand
Att to great a distance in my strait
He who seekes my ruing is att hand
In snaire him Lord in his owne bait
Ther foolish harts lift vp wth pride
And in ther riches they confide
Though such vaine boasters thou dost haite

The wicked through ther haughty looke
On thy ways Lord cast not a thought
Thy iustness dealings he noe ways can brooke
Thy iudgments are aboue his 'rought
He thinkes his station's sure, that he
No charge or aduerse chance shal se
He his opposers sets att naught

Ther mouth wth fraud & cursings fills
Vnder his tongue ther mischefe lies
By his secret plots the innocent kils
When from his lurking holes he rise
As lions closely couched in his den
To catch his pray, so doth he, when
He sets on them his halfe-shut eyes

Wth fawning gestures thes to catch
(When he in secret hath laid his netts plot
In wch they fall) by thos he [illegible deletion] that wach
He faulsely says [illegible deletion] god hath soon forgot
From them he'as hid his face will he
Such poore forsaken wreches see
Distroy them Lord them out of from memory blott

Why should they longer say in spite
God this requires nott att our hands
But thou see's this shall them requite
Who for the poore distressed stands
Exalt not Lord the wicked powre
Let not his Powre exalted be
Till noe crime is in him more
Butt search out his iniquity
Reign thou when they'r cut from the Land

Thou art Lord iudge of the fatherless
And for whose sute doth att thy footstoole lies
Thyn ear is ready to heare his cries
And make wicked men noe more opress

Modernized Text

Thy presence, Lord, doth seem to stand
At too great a distance in my straight:
He seeks my ruin is at hand;
Ensnare him, Lord, in his own bait.
Their foolish hearts [are] lift[ed] up with pride
And in their riches they confide,
Though such vain boasters thou dost hate.

The wicked through their haughty look
On thy ways, Lord, cast not a thought.
Thy dealings he no ways can brook;
Thy judgments are above his 'rought.
He thinks his station's sure, that he
No charge or adverse chance shall see.
He his opposers sets at naught.

Their mouth with fraud and cursings fills;
Under his tongue, there mischief lies;
By secret plots the innocent kills,
When from his lurking holes he rise.
As lions closely couch in den
To catch his pray, so doth he when
He sets on them his half-shut eyes.

With fawning gestures these to catch
(When in secret [he] hath laid his plot
In which they fall) by those that watch
He falsely says, God hath forgot;
From them he's hid his face. Will he
Such poor forsaken wretches see?
Destroy them Lord, from memory blot.

Why should they longer say in spite,
God this requires, not at our hands.
But thou [who] sees this shall them requite,
Who for the poor distressed stands.
Let not his power exalted be
But search out his iniquity.
Reign thou when they're cut from the land.

Thou, Lord, judge of the fatherless
Whose suit doth at thy footstool lie;
Thine ear is ready to hear his cries
And make wicked men no more opress.

<< Psal 9
Psal 11 >>
MS. Fairfax 40 index

 


Twitter link image Mail link image Home link image