THE PSALMS OF DAVID|
By Sir Philip Sidney
Domine, ne in furore.
I. LORD, let not me, a worme, by Thee be shent,
While Thou art in the heat of Thy displeasure;
Ne let Thy rage of my due punishment
Become the measure.
2. But mercy, Lord, let mercy Thyne descend,
For I am weake, and in my weakness languish:
Lord, help, for even my bones their marrow spend
With cruel anguish.
3. Nay, ev'n my soul fell troubles do appall:
Alas! how long, my God, wilt Thou delay me?
Turn Thee, sweet Lord, and from this ougly fall,
My deare God, stay me.
4. Mercy, O mercy, Lord, for mercy's sake,
For death dos kill the wittness of Thy glory;
Can of Thy prayse the tongues entombèd make
A heavnly story?
5. Lo, I am tir'd, while still I sigh and groane:
My moystned bed proofes of my sorrow showeth,
My bed, while I with black Night mourn alone,
With my teares floweth.
6. Woe, lyke a moth, my face's beauty eates,
And age, pul'd on with paines, all freshness fretteth,
The while a swarm of foes with vexing feates
My life besetteth.
7. Get hence, you evill, who in my evill rejoyce,
In all whose workes vainess is ever raigning,
For God hath heard the weeping sobbing voice
Of my complaining.
8. The Lord my suite did heare, and gently heare;
They shall be sham'd and vext that breed my crying,
And turn their backs, and strait on backs appeare
Their shamefull flying.
Sidney, Philip. The Complete Poems of Sir Philip Sidney. vol. III.
Alexander B. Grosart, Ed. London: Chatto & Windus, 1877. 90-2.
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