A song of high degrees. When I was in trouble I called vpon God: and he hearde me.

Deliuer my soule O God from false lyppes: & from a deceiptful tongue.

What doth a deceiptfull tongue vnto thee? what good bryngeth it thee?

So much as sharpe arrowes of a strong man in thy sydes: with Iuniper coales powred on thy head.

Wo be vnto me that am constrayned to be conuersaunt in Mesech: and to dwell among the tentes of Cedar.

My soule hath dwelt long: with hym that hateth peace.

I am a man of peace: but because I do speake therof, they prepare them selues to battayle.