A briefe sonet declaring the lamentation of Beckles, a market towne in Suffolke which was in the great winde vpon S. Andrewes eue pitifully burned with fire to the value by estimation of tweentie thousande pounds And to the number of fourescore dwelling houses, besides a great number of other houses. 1586. To the tune of Labandalashotte.

A briefe ſonet declaring the lamentation of Beckles, a Market Towne in Suffolke which was in the great winde vpon S. Andrewes eue pitifully burned with fire to the value by eſtimation of tweentie thouſande pounds. And to the number of foureſcore dwelling houſes, beſides a great number of other houſes. 1586. To the tune of Labandalaſhotte.

MY louing good neighbours, that comes to beholde, Me ſillie poore Beckles, in cares manyfolde, In ſorrow all drowned, which floated of late, With teares all bedewed, at my wofull ſtate, With fire is conſumed, moſt wofull to vewe, Whoſe ſpoile thy poore people, for euer may rue, When well you haue vewed 〈…〉 decay, And pittie haue pierced, your heartes it may, Say thus my good neighbours that God in his ire: For ſinne hath conſumed pore Beckles with Fire For one onely pariſh, my ſelfe I mought vaunt, To match with the braueſt, for who but will graunt? The Sea and the Countrey, me fitting ſo nye, The freſh water Riuer, ſo ſweete running by, My medowes and commons, ſuch proſpect of health, My Fayers in ſomer, ſo garniſht with wealth, My Market ſo ſerued, with corne, fleſh, and fiſh, And all kinde of victuals, that poore men would wiſh, That who but knewe Beckles, with ſighing may ſaye, Would God of his mercie, had ſparde my decaye. But O my deſtruction, O moſt diſmall day, My temple is ſpoyled, and brought in decay, My marketſted burned, my beautie defaced, My wealth ouerwhelmed, my people diſplaced, My muſicke is wayling, my mirth it is moone, My ioyes are departed, my comfort is gone, My people poore creatures, are mourning in woe, Still wandring not wotting, which waye for to goe, A rude felowe by fiering his chimney, procured their calamitie. Like ſillie poore Troians, whom Sinon betrayde, But God of thy mercy, releeue them with ayde, O daye moſt vnluckie, the winde lowde in ſkie, The water harde froſen, the houſes ſo drye, To ſeé ſuch a burning, ſuch flaming of fire, Such wayling, ſuch crying, through ſcourge of Gods ire, Such running, ſuch working, ſuch taking of payne, Such whirling, ſuch haling, ſuch reauing in vaine, Such robbing, ſuch ſtealing, from more to the leſſe, Such diſhoneſt dealing, in time of diſtreſſe, That who ſo hard hearted, and worne out of grace? But pittie may pierce him to thinke of my caſe. But O my good neighbours, that ſee mine eſtate, Be all one as Chriſtians, not liue in debate, With wrapping and trapping, each other in thrall, With watching, and pryeng at each others fall, With houing, and ſhouing, and ſtriuing in Lawe, Of God nor his Goſpell, once ſtanding in awe, Lyue not in heart-burning, at God neuer wreſt, To Chriſt once be turning, not vſe him in teſt, Liue louely together and not in diſcorde, Let me be your mirrour, to liue in the Lorde. But though God haue pleaſed, for ſinne to plague me, Let none thinke there liuing is cauſe they ſcape free, But let them remember, how Chriſt once did tell, Their ſinnes were not greater, on whom the wall fell, But leaſt you repent ye, thus much he doth ſay, Be ſure and certaine ye alſo decaye, Let none then perſwade them, ſo free from all thrall, But that their ill liuing, deſerueth a fall, Thus farewell: forget not, my wofull annoye, God ſend you new yeare and Finis ꝙ D. STERRI Foelix quem faciunt aliena pericula cantum.