Great(i)
9 From the vngodly that trouble me: mine enemies compasse me round about, to take awaye my soule.
10 They are enclosed in their awne fatt: & their mouth speaketh proude thinges.
11 They lye waytynge in oure waye on euery syde, turnynge their eyes downe to the grounde.
12 Lyke as a lyon that is gredy of hys praye, and as it were a lyons whelpe lurcking in secrete places.
13 Up Lorde, disapoynte hym, and cast hym downe: delyuer my soule from the vngodly which is as a swearde of thyne.