Psal 17 (MS. Fairfax 40, The Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford)
Transcription
Thou that that hearest right Lord to my crie attend
And to the prayrs that lipps vnfained send
Lett my iust cause 'fore thy Tribunal come
The accounts of Justice thou dost rightly some
Thou knowst my hart & it shal be my care
That noe distastfull thing be harbered ther
As for the workes of men by thy powre deuine
Ther ways will shun distructiue things designe
In going Lord from sliding in my way
Keep thou my feet & ô heare me when I pray
When vp in feruent zeale to thee I send
Incline thyn eare thy mercy Lord extend
O saue me Lord Let those that trust in thee
Be by thy powre thee preserued, controule th'enimy
Let tender mercy care & wachful eye be sett
On him to thee for shelter runs to gett
Opressing men that seekes my soule to take
Are sweld wth pride are wrapted in ther owne fatt [fate]
Th'incompas vs wth snaires ther eyes downcast
Ther pray once seazed they lion-like hold fast
Who feeds on hoarded treasure as twere food
They lay itt vp wth thoughts its always ther
Let them not preuaile, nor my soule ô Lord
Fall into the wickeds hands who are thy sword
Nor yitt thos in this life haue hem[?] ther good
Who That feeds on hoarded treasurs ast'were food
They lay it vp, wth thoughts t'is always thers
Ther children's many nor yitt want they heirs
But more it'would more reioyce my soule to see
When it awakes thatt it's more like to thee
Modernized Text
Thou that hearest right, to my cry attend,
And to the prayers that lips unfeignéd send.
Let my just cause 'fore thy tribunal come.
The accounts of justice thou dost rightly sum;
Thou know'st my heart and it shall be my care
That no distasteful thing be harbored there.
As for the works of men, by power divine
Their ways will shun destructive thing's design.
In going, Lord, from sliding in my way
Keep thou my feet. Oh hear me when I pray;
When up in fervent zeal to thee I send,
Incline thine ear; thy mercy, Lord, extend.
O save me, Lord; let those that trust in thee
Be by thee preserved; control th'enemy;
Let tender care and watchful eye be set
On him [that] to thee for shelter runs to get.
Oppressing men that seek my soul to take
Are swelled with pride, are wrappéd in their fate;
Th[ey]' incompas us with snares, their eyes downcast;
Their pray, once seized, they lion-like hold fast.
Let them not prevail nor my soul, oh Lord,
Fall to the wicked's hands, who are thy sword.
Nor yet those in this life have them their good
That feeds on hoarded treasures as t'were food:
They lay it up with thoughts t'is always theirs.
Their children's many nor yet want they heirs.
But more it would rejoyce my soul to see
When it awakes that it's more like to thee.
