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Mi kyng, and my God; yyue thou tent to the vois of my preier.

Eerli Y schal stonde nyy thee, and Y schal se; for thou art God not willynge wickidnesse.

Her throte is an opyn sepulcre, thei diden gilefuli with her tungis; God, deme thou hem. Falle thei doun fro her thouytis, vp the multitude of her wickidnessis caste thou hem doun; for, Lord, thei han terrid thee to ire. And alle that hopen in thee, be glad; thei schulen make fulli ioye with outen ende, and thou schalt dwelle in hem.

The title of the seuenthe salm. For the ignoraunce of Dauid, which he songe to the Lord on the wordis of Ethiopien, the sone of Gemyny. Mi Lord God, Y haue hopid in thee; make thou me saaf fro alle that pursuen me, and delyuere thou me.

Mi Lord God, if Y dide this thing, if wickidnesse is in myn hondis;

And, my Lord God, rise thou in the comaundement, which thou `hast comaundid; and the synagoge of puplis schal cumpasse thee.

The wickidnesse of synneris be endid; and thou, God, sekyng the hertis and reynes, schalt dresse a iust man.

God foryetith not the cry of pore men; for he hath mynde, and sekith the blood of hem.

Synneris be turned togidere in to helle; alle folkis, that foryeten God.

God is not in his siyt; hise weies ben defoulid in al tyme. God, thi domes ben takun awei fro his face; he schal be lord of alle hise enemyes.

For he seide in his herte, God hath foryete; he hath turned awei his face, that he se not in to the ende.

Lord God, rise thou vp, and thin hond be enhaunsid; foryete thou not pore men.

For what thing terride the wickid man God to wraththe? for he seide in his herte, God schal not seke.

My Lord God, biholde thou, and here thou me. Liytne thou myn iyen, lest ony tyme Y slepe in deth;

The Lord bihelde fro heuene on the sones of men; that he se, if ony is vndurstondynge, ethir sekynge God.

Alle bowiden awei, togidere thei ben maad vnprofitable; noon is that doth good, noon is `til to oon. The throte of hem is an open sepulcre, thei diden gilefuli with her tungis; the venym of snakis is vndur her lippis. Whos mouth is ful of cursyng and bittirnesse; her feet ben swift to schede out blood. Sorewe and cursidnesse is in the weies of hem, and thei knewen not the weie of pees; the drede of God is not bifor her iyen.

Y seide to the Lord, Thou art my God, for thou hast no nede of my goodis.

I criede, for thou, God, herdist me; bowe doun thin eere to me, and here thou my wordis.

Mi God is myn helpere; and Y schal hope in to hym. My defendere, and the horn of myn helthe; and myn vptakere.

In my tribulacioun Y inwardli clepide the Lord; and Y criede to my God. And he herde my vois fro his hooli temple; and my cry in his siyt entride in to hise eeris.