He mischief, lying on his bed, most cunningly doth plot: He sets himself in ways not good, ill he abhorreth not.
Hate ill, all ye that love the Lord: his saints' souls keepeth he; And from the hands of wicked men he sets them safe and free.
Ill more than good, and more than truth thou lovest to speak wrong:
Yea, they that seek my life lay snares: who seek to do me wrong Speak things mischievous, and deceits imagine all day long.