Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend 
With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just. 
Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must 
Disappointment all I endeavour end? 
     Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend, 
How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost 
Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust 
Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend, 
Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes 
Now, leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again 
With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes 
Them; birds build--but not I build; no, but strain, 
Time’s eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes. 
Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain. 

     Thou indeed, O Lord, art just, if I plead with thee, but yet I will speak what is just to thee: Why doth the way of the wicked prosper: why is it well with all them that transgress and do wickedly? 2 Thou hast planted them, and they have taken root: they prosper and bring forth fruit: thou art near in their mouth and far from their reins. 3 And thou, O Lord, hast known me, thou hast seen me and proved my heart with thee: gather them together as sheep for a sacrifice, and prepare them for the day of slaughter. 4. How long shall the land mourn, and the herb of every field wither for the wickedness of them that dwell therein? The beasts and the birds are consumed: because they have said: He shall not see our last end. 
 

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