1 Drihten, Drihten, min God, beseoh to me; hwi forlete þu me swa feor minre hælo?
Drihten, hwi gewitst þu swa feor fram us, and hwi noldest þu cuman to us to þære tide þe us nydþearf wæs?
Gehealde me, Drihten, for þam ic hopige to ðe.
Ne gewit þu fram me, for þam me synt earfoðu swyðe neh, and nis nan oþer þe wylle oððe mæge me gehelpan.
for ðan me ymbhringdon swiðe mænige hundas, and seo gegaderung þara awyrgedra me ofsæton. Hy þurhdulfon mine handa and mine fet
Ac ne forleos mine sawle ongemang þam arleasum, ne min lif betwuh þam manslagum,
For þæm God lufað ryhte domas and ne forlæt næfre his halge, ac he gehylt hy on ecnesse. He witnað þa scyldigan, and þæt sæd þæra unrihtwisra forwyrð.
Ac ic eom gesæged and gehnæged and swiðe geeaðmed; and ic grymetige and stene swiþe swiðlice mid ealle mode.
Cweþað cuðlice: “Wuton cunnian, hwænne hine god læte swa swa gymeleasne; þonne we hine forgripen and his geara ehtan; syþþan he ne hæbbe helpend ænne.”