Geneva(i)
1 Woe is me, for I am as the sommer gatherings, and as the grapes of the vintage: there is no cluster to eate: my soule desired the first ripe fruites.
2 The good man is perished out of the earth, and there is none righteous among men: they all lye in wayte for blood: euery man hunteth his brother with a net.
3 To make good for the euil of their hands, the prince asked, and the iudge iudgeth for a reward: therefore the great man he speaketh out the corruption of his soule: so they wrapt it vp.
4 The best of them is as a brier, and the most righteous of them is sharper then a thorne hedge: the day of thy watchmen and thy visitation commeth: then shalbe their confusion.