Oh LORDE, rebuke me not in thine anger: Oh chaste me not in thy heuy displeasure.

Haue mercy vpon me (o LORDE) for I am weake: o LORDE heale me, for all my bones are vexed.

My soule also is in greate trouble, but LORDE how longe?

Turne the (o LORDE) & delyuer my soule: Oh saue me, for thy mercies sake.

For in death no man remebreth the: Oh who wil geue the thankes in the hell?

I am weery of gronynge: Euery night wasshe I my bedde, & water my couche with my teares.

My coutenauce is chaunged for very inwarde grefe, I cosume awaye, I haue so many enemies.

Awaye fro me all ye wicked doers, for the LORDE hath herde the voyce off my wepinge.

The LORDE hath herde myne humble peticio, the LORDE hath receaued my prayer.

All myne enemies shalbe cofounded & sore vexed: yee they shalbe turned backe and put to shame, and that right soone.