Psalms in Metre
   1  In trouble and in thrall
      unto the Lord I call
      And he doth me comfort:
      Deliver me, I pray,
      From lying lips always,
      and tongues of false report.
   2  What 'vantage or what thing
      gett'st thou thus for to sing,
      Thou false and flatt'ring liar?
      Thy tongue doth hurt, 'tis seen,
      No less than arrows keen,
      or hot consuming fire. 
   3  Alas! That I am fain
      in those tents to remain,
      Which Kedar are by name:
      By whom the flock elect,
      And all of Isaac's sect,
      are put to open shame. 
   4  With them that peace do hate
      I came to meditate,
      And set a quiet life:
      But when my mind was told,
      Causeless I was controlled
      by them that lovèd strife.