Unto the end, in verses, a psalm for David, for the octave.
O Lord, rebuke me not in thy indignation, nor chastise me in thy wrath.
Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am weak: heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled.
And my soul is troubled exceedingly: but thou, O Lord, how long?
Turn to me, O Lord, and deliver my soul: O save me for thy mercy’s sake.
For there is no one in death, that is mindful of thee: and who shall confess to thee in hell?
I have laboured in my groanings, every night I will wash my bed: I will water my couch with my tears.
My eye is troubled through indignation: I have grown old amongst all my enemies.
Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity: for the Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping.
The Lord hath heard my supplication: the Lord hath received my prayer.
Let all my enemies be ashamed, and be very much troubled: let them be turned back, and be ashamed very speedily.