1[To the chiefe musician Al-taschith, Michtam of Dauid.] Doe yee indeed speake righteousnesse, O congregation? doe ye iudge vprightly, O ye sonnes of men? 2Yea, in heart you worke wickednesse; you waigh the violence of your hands in the earth. 3The wicked are estranged from the wombe, they goe astray as soone as they be borne, speaking lies.4Their poison is like the poyson of a serpent; they are like the deafe adder that stoppeth her eare: 5Which will not hearken to the voyce of charmers, charming neuer so wisely.