Bishops(i)
17 Beholde, bitter as gall was my pensiuenesse, so sore longed I for health, and it was thy pleasure to deliuer my lyfe from the filthy pit: for thou it is [O Lorde] that hast cast all my sinnes behynde thy backe
18 For hell prayseth not thee, death doth not magnifie thee: they that go downe into the graue prayse not thy trueth