And yet can not ye tel what shall happen on the morowe. For what thyng is your lyfe? It is euen a vapour, that appeareth for a litle tyme, and then he vanisheth away.
From aboue hath he sent downe a fire into my bones, and it burneth them cruelly: he hath layde a net for my feete, and throwen me wyde open, he hath made me desolate, so that I must euer be mournyng
O hide not thou thy face from me, nor cast thy seruaunt away in a displeasure: thou hast ben my succour, leaue me not, neither forsake me O Lorde of my saluation