Robert Crowley: The Psalter of David

Robert Crowley, The Psalter of David newely translated into Englysh metre in such sort that it maye the more decently, and wyth more delyte of the mynde, be reade and songe of al men. Whereunto is added a note of four partes, wyth other thynes, as shall appeaare in the Epistle to the Readar. Translated and Imprinted by Robert Crowley. (London, Robert Crowley, 1549). [STC2 2725]

Lord God for thy great goodnes sake,
be mercifull to me:
And for thy passyng great mercie,
purge myne iniquitie.
From myne iniquitie good Lord, wash thou
me plentuously:
And from my synnes and trespases do thou do thou me
mundifie.
For myne offences I confesse, and do none
of them hyde:
My synnes Lorde & my wyckednes do in my
syght abyde,
I have offended the alone, & sinned in thy
syght:
wherfore thy wordes shalbe founde true, &
thy judgmentes upright.
Behold Lord in iniquitie, was I made &
formed.
And was not fre from wyckednes, when I
was conceived.
For lo, Lorde thou lovest the truth, even
from the verie herte:
And hast shewed me of thy wysedome, even
the secrete parte.
Purge me wyth Isope & I shall, be pure
and cleane I knowe:
Washe thou me, & then shall I be more whyt
then is the snowe.
Brynge thou to passe that I maye heare
great joye and rejoyceynge:
And that they whome thou haste brought
lowe, may thy great prayses synge.
Turne thy face from my wickednes & loke
not on my synne:
To blot out myne iniquities, Lorde God do
thou begynne.
Create, Lorde God wythin my breste, an
undefiled herte:
And in my bowelles Lorde renewe, a spirite
that wyll not starte.
Caste thou me not out of thy syght, ne do
thou me forget:
Neyther do thou thyne holy spirite, from thy
pore servant set.
Restore to me the rejoyceynge, Lorde of
thy saveynge helth:
And with thy principall sprite Lord, stablishe
thy servantes welthe.
To the transgressers of thy lawes, thy
wayes I wyll declare:
And to the shalbe converted, men that great
synnes are.
O God, the God of my soule helth, deliver
me from bloud:
And my tonge shall wyth joye declare, the
boeth ryght wise and good.
Open thou my lyppes good Lorde, & teach
my tonge to speake:
And then my mouth wythout ceasyng, shall
in thy prayse out breake.
For if sacrifice dyd please the, I would geve
the such thynges:
But thou delitest not good Lord, in the brent
offerynges.
A pensiefe and a troubled spirite, is to God
sacrifice:
A broken and a contrite hert, God thou wylt
not despyse.
Lorde God, of thy bountuousnes, do thou
favour Sion:
That the walles of Jerusalem, may be buylded
anon.
Then shall please the brent offerynges, &
sacrifice of right.
And on thyne holy aultare Lorde, men shall
fatte bullockes dyght.