How long (ô Lord) shall I forgotten be?
What? ever?
How long wilt thou thi hidden face from me
Dissever?
How long shall I consult with carefull sprite
In anguish?
How long shall I with foes triumphant might
Thus languish?
Behold me Lord, let to thy hearing creep
My crying.
Nay give me eyes, and light, least that I sleep
In dying.
Least my foe bragg, that in my ruyne he
Prevailed:
And at my fall they joy that, troublous, me
Assailed.
Noe, noe, I trust on thee, and joy in thy
Greate pitty:
Still therefore of thy graces shalbe my
Songs ditty.