Thou makest us a strife unto our neighbours round about; Our enemies among themselves at us do laugh and flout.
Unto our neighbours a reproach most base become are we; A scorn and laughingstock to them that round about us be.
My soul is poured out in me, when this I think upon; Because that with the multitude I heretofore had gone: With them into God's house I went, with voice of joy and praise; Yea, with the multitude that kept the solemn holy days.