A song of degrees.
I lift vp mine eyes to thee, that dwellest in the heauens.
Behold, as the eyes of seruants looke vnto the hand of their masters, and as the eyes of a mayden vnto the hand of her mistres: so our eyes waite vpon the Lord our God vntil he haue mercie vpon vs.
Haue mercie vpon vs, O Lorde, haue mercie vpon vs: for we haue suffered too much contempt.
Our soule is filled too full of ye mocking of the wealthy, & of the despitefulnes of the proude.