From lewd oppressors, compassing me round, as deadly foes.
For without cause have they for me their net hid in a pit, They also have without a cause for my soul digged it.
Let them confounded be and sham'd that for my soul have sought: Who plot my hurt turn'd back be they, and to confusion brought.
They, to the spoiling of my soul, me ill for good repaid.
In secret of thy presence thou shalt hide them from man's pride: From strife of tongues thou closely shalt, as in a tent, them hide.
Then let the foe pursue and take my soul, and my life thrust Down to the earth, and let him lay mine honour in the dust.