Sham'd and confounded be they all that seek my soul to kill; Yea, let them backward driven be, and sham'd, that wish me ill.
Sham'd and confounded be they all that at my hurt are glad; Let those against me that do boast with shame and scorn be clad.
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.
Confound, consume them, that unto my soul are enemies: Cloth'd be they with reproach and shame that do my hurt devise.
When back my foes were turn'd, they fell, and perish'd at thy sight:
Bulls many compass me, strong bulls of Bashan me surround.
From sword my soul, from pow'r of dogs my darling set thou free.
Lord, haste me to deliver; with speed, Lord, succor me.
From God let this be their reward that en'mies are to me, And their reward that speak against my soul maliciously.