Since the womb they have gone astray, the wicked, on the wrong path since their birth, with their unjust verdicts. They are poisonous as any snake, deaf as an adder that blocks its ears so as not to hear the magician’s music, however skilful his spells.
God, break the teeth in their mouths, snap off the fangs of these young lions, Yahweh. May they drain away like water running to waste, may they wither like trampled grass, like the slug that melts as it moves or a still-born child that never sees the sun. Before they sprout thorns like the bramble, green or burnt up, may retribution whirl them away. The upright will rejoice to see vengeance done, and will bathe his feet in the blood of the wicked. (Ps. 58:3-10)
Zwinglius Redivivus 