The Paris Psalter: Psalm 140

Ic þe, drihten, to dyrum clypige; gehyr me hrædlice holdre stefne, þonne ic bene to þe bidde ceare full. Sy on þinre gesihþe mines sylfes gebed ful recene gereht, swa ricels byð, þonne hit gifre gleda bærnað. Swylce is ahafenes handa minra, þonne ic þe æfenlac estum secge. Sete swæse geheald swylce, drihten, muðe minum, ne læt man sprecan, and æþele dor ymbstandende, þæt on welerum wisdom healde. Ne hyld þu mine heortan, þæt ic hearme word þuruh inwitstæf ut forlæte,

and ic lædend wese laðra firena. Ne ic æfre mid mannum manfremmendum gemænnesse micle hæbbe, ne on heora gecorenesse becume æfre. Ac me soðfæst symble gerecce and mildheorte mode þreage; ele synfulra æfre ne mote heafde minum hrinan ahwær. Forþon min gebed nu gyt becnum standeð, þæt him on wisum is wel lycendlice; syndon hi æt strangum stane forswolgene; noldan heora deman mine gedefe word earan gehyran, eft ne mihton. Swa unefne is eorþe þicce,

syndon þas moras myclum asprotene, swa ure ban syndon bitere toworpene be helwarena hæfteneodum. Forþon ic, drihten, on þe dædum minum eagum and mode æghwær gelyfe; ne ascuf þu fram me sawle mine. Geheald me wið þare gryne þe me grame setton, þæt me ne beswice synwyrcende, þa þe unrihtes æghwær þenceað. Feallað firenfulle on heora fengnettum; ic me syndrig eom, oþþæt ic swa fere.