LONDON'S Mourning garment, or Funeral Tears: worn and shed for the death of her wealthy Citizens, and other her inhabitants. To which is added, a zealous and fervent Prayer, with a true relation how many have died of all diseases, in every particular parish within London, the Liberties, and out parishes near adjoining from the 14 of july 1603. to the 17 of November. following. At London printed by Ralph Blower. 1603. To the Right Worshipful, Sir john Swinnerton Knight: one of the worshipful Aldermen, of the honourable City of London: W. M. wisheth Earth's Happiness, and heavens Blessedness. RIght Worshipful and grave Senator: if my knowledge and learning, were answerable to my good will and affection: this my poor labour now mourning in a sable Weed, should be as great and precious, as to the contrary it is weak, and slender. And knowing that the Virtuous mind, respecteth not so much the value of the gift, as the good will of the giver, emboldeneth me to present this small Pamphlet to your Worship's view; most humbly craving pardon for my rash attempt, which if to your wont clemmencie I do obtain. I shall liken myself to a poor Debtor owing much, freely forgiven of all his large reckonings and dangerous accounts, and bound in duty to pray for your Worship's long life, with increase of honour. Your Worships at Command, WILLIAM MUGGINS ¶ London's mourning garment, and Funeral Tears. With heavy heart, and sighs of inward Cares, With wring hands● explaining sorrows woe, With blubbered cheeks, bedewde with trickling tears With mind oppressed lamenting griefs that flow, London lament, and all thy losses show: What all? nay some, all were too much to tell, The learned Homer could not pen it well. Ay me poor London, which of late did flourish, With springing MARCH, the tidings of a King: And APRIL showers, my blossoms so did nourish, That I in MAY, was called a famous thing, Yea Towns and Cities did my glory ring: Nay thorough the world my golden fame so grew, That Princes high, crossed Seas, my seat to view. And like to AGAMEMNON'S gallant train, Throughout my streets, with stately steps did go, Where them with welcomes, I did entertain; Pleasing their liking, with each several show, Where they in me, much treasure did bestow, Honouring the Church with Prayers, the Change with gold, Where Princes bought, and beauteous Virgins sold. To add more glory to my prosperous state, My Sovereign Lord, most high and mighty King, Made oft repair, both Moining, Even and late, To me both gainful, and a pleasant thing: My heart was glad, my voice SOL, FA, did sing, My head did muse, not struck with sorrows sad, But how to make, my crowned Sovereign glad. And as a Bride, against her Nuptial day, Doth deck herself, with fair and rich attire, Accompanied with Damsels fresh and gay, To plight her faith, to him she did desire Even so did I with zeal as hot as fire. Prepare myself against this day of joy, To give him welcome, with VIVE LE ROYE. My Magistrates were all so ready priest In scarlet rich, this potent Prince to greet: My wealthy Freemen also wrought their best, Preparing Pageants in each famous street● My Marchant-strangers laboured hands and feet, And scattered coin, like JUPITER'S showers of Gold, Hoping with joy this CESAR to behold. And as those men the wealthiest in my Bower, Was never sparing in this good intent, So did my Artisauts with all their power, For love or gain, to work were ready bend. PYGMALION forth his skilful Carvers sent? Cunning APPELLES with his pencil drew Prospectious strange, for King and Peers to view. But oh, a sudden qualm doth cross my heart twixt cup and lip are dangers oft we see, Unwelcome death approacheth with his dart, Yelping, oh, LONDON, thou must yield to me: I must hau● roots and branches for my fee. The fruits full ripe and blossoms that might grow Are mine, not thine, the Fates decreed it so. Drowned in deep seas (poor Lady) thus I lie, Unless some speedy help a comfort yield: Is there no wife nor widow that will high, And reach a hand that hath some sorrows felt, My griefs are more than I myself can weld, Help some good woman with your soules-sigh deep, For you are tender hearted and can weep. What none? nay, than I see the Proverb old is true, The widows care is studious where to love, Sith women are so fickle, men to you, LONDON laments, will ye her plaints remove. I hear no Echo; men like women prove, Widowers for wives, widows for husbands seek, Before the tears are dried from their cheeks. To children than I will my sorrows show, Whole Parent● lately in the grave were laid; Their hearts with sighs will cause fresh tears to flow, And reach a hand for sorrowing LONDON'S aid. Come children mourn, I cry but am denayed, Their Parents riches so inflames their breast, That they long since did wish them at their rest. Where, or to whom, may I my voice set forth? Men mourn for men, where friendship long hath bred: Fie no (good Lady) there is found small troth, The living Friend deceives the friend that's dead, Robbing his children with a subtle head: By reason he executor, made the drown By wresting Law, the riches are his own. Oh (helpless Lady) whither shall I ●lye, To find true mourners in this sad lament? To aged people; no, their heads are dry, They cannot weep, long since their tears were spent: To middle age? (alas) their wits are bend To purchase lands and livings for their heirs, Or by long life, ●o gainé which other spares. The loving servant may yet help at need, That now hath lost his Master and his stay, Sending forth sithings till the heart doth bleed: Oh, LONDON, thou in vain to him dost pray, His power and wits he bends another way: His Master's custom, shop, and trade to get, Is all the tears, the blithe young man can let. Is there none then, that will take London's part? And help to sing, a welcome unto woe? Is there none found, that feels a present smart? Nor none a live, that can c●use Tears to flow? If any be? then freely them bestow. Two mourn together, suage e●h others grief, Weep on a while, and I will be the chief. I hear no answer yet in these estates, Let me but study, where, and whom to seek, Oh, now I have bethought me, come on mates, For you and I, must mourn it by the week: And never will, new tears, be long to seeker For Parents love, unto their Children dear, In judgement sound, nothing can come more near. The love of Parents', are like grafts that grow, Ever increasing, till it prove a tree: The love of Children, like the melting Snow, Ever decreasing, till an end there be, Daily experience, proves this true we see, Love to the Children, evermore depends: But to the Parents, seldom re-discendes. And now I have, with travel, grief and pain, Found forth two mourners, that will Agents be: Choose which of us, shall settle to complain, Or if you will, leau● all the charged to me: Only I with you, to abandon glee. And to my voice, prepare your glowing Ears, With sighs and groans, and sometimes scalding Tears. And if to high my warbling notes ascends, judge me not bold but zealous in my love: If that too low, think that with sights for friends, My voice is hoarse, yet I again will prove, The utmost power, I can for to remove, Your too forgetful, sorrows which are dry, And place them now, a fresh in memory, Art thou a Father, or a Mother dear? Hadst thou a Son, or Daughter of thy side: Were not their voice, sweet music in thy Ear, Or from their smiles, couldst thou thy countenance hide. Nay, were they not, the glories of thy pride? I doubt too much, thy love on them were set, That whilst thou livest, thou canst not them forget. Remember well, you Dames of London City, As for you men, i'll leave you for a while, Because small pains, deserves the lesser pity, And you are stronger, sorrows to beguile: A space we will, your company exile, And bid you farewell, till another day, When time and place, will give you cause of stay. And now my hearts, old Widows and young wives, You that in silence, sit so sad and mute: You that wring hands, as weary of your lives, Hear London speak, she will express your suit. I know your sighs, is for your tender fruit. Fruit in the bud, in blossom ripe and grown, All dear to you, now death hath made his own. And as the greedy Wolf, from harmless Ewes, Robs them of Lambs, sucking their tender Tett: And in his Rigour, no compassion shows, But gormondizing, kills them for his meat. Even so death's fury, now is grown so great, The tender Lamb, will not his fury stay. Both Lambs and Ewes, he swallows for his prey. Witness I ca●, poor LONDON for my part, What palefaced Death, within five Months hath wrought Seven hundred Widows, wounded to the heart, With their sweet Babes, which they full dearly boughty Some dead new borne, some never forth were brought, You Mothers weep, if ever you bore any, To think how sore, Death did perplex so many. Not yet content, he Rageth up and down, And secretly, his heavy visage shows: In every street, and corner of the Town, Emptyeing whole house's, soon whereas he goes, Taking away, both old and young G●d knows, The weeping Mother, and the Infant clear, The loving Brother, and the Sister dear. Oh, mother's sigh, sit and shed tears a while, Expel your idle pleasures, think on woes: Make not so much as countenance of a smile But with down looks, which inward sorrow shows, And now a fresh, remember all your throws, Your gripes your pangs, your bodies pinched with pain, As if this instant, you did them sustain Let not so much, forgotten be of you, As the least qualm, that then your hearts oppressed: No nor the smallest, dolour did ensue, As heavy winks and too too little rest; Remember all, the sorrows of thy breast, Which in the bre●ding, bearing and delivery, You did endure, with pain yet willing Again bethink you, at that instant hour, The little difference, was twixt li●e and death: When as the insant, with his naked power, Laboured for life, to have his rightful birth, And with the sickly, Mother gasped for breath, The one ne●e dead, as nigh to death the other, Sore to the babe, worse Travel for the Mother. If any Mother, can forget this smart, Her for a woman, I will never take: And out of London's, favour may she part, And all such brutish, strumpets for her sake: For such light hus-wives, I a wish will make, That never any, may approach my City, Ever to want, a●d no heart them to pity. And now return I, to you honest wives, Who grieving sits, and sighing send forth Tears, Which to your Husbands, live chaste and true lives, And with your Children, passeth forth your years, To you that London's, Lamentations hears. And are true partners, in my plaints and moans, Experience shows it, by your inward gro●es. The Child new borne, the Mother some de●le well Are all the griefs, and sorrows at an end: No cares and troubles, yet I have to tell, Though Child be swath'de, and sickly Mother mend, The feeble Infant, many a fret doth send. Which grieves the Mother, till she weep again, To hear and see, the Infant in such pain. And with her feeble, hand and weakly strength, She plays and dallies, for the babies good: And to her milk-white, breasts doth lay at length The pretty fool, who learns to take his food. His only means, to nourish life and blood, He fed●, she paynd, he draws, poor Mother yields, Whose loving breasts both shoots and prickings feels, And when the Babe doth gather strength a main, Most strongly labouring at his mother's dug. She patiently endureth all the pain, Suffering his lips her nipple still to lug, And with her arms most closely doth it hug, As she should say, draw child and spare not me, My breasts are thine, I feel no pain with thee. Though that poor heart her breast doth ache full sore, And inwardly sell prickings she endures, Till eyes gush tears, and lips reach kisses store; Which in true mother's gladsome joys procures, And to more ardent love them still allures: That toares and kisses greet the Babe together, Like to sunshine when it is dropping weather, Ymmagin here, the pretty Lamb doth cry, The Mother strong, and times of Custom past: Will, she then leave it, to the worlds broad Eye, No, whilst her life, and vital powers last, The Mother's love, to Child is fixed so fast. She stills it strait, and lays it to her breast, With kisses more, than VENUS could digest And with h●r Arms, she heaves it high and low, As if a cradle, it sweet fool lay in: Doubt you not to, she kisses did bestow, And if it smile, a fresh she doth begin. On pretty look, a hundred kisses win My more than sweet, unto her Child she saith, I would not for, a Kingdom wish thy Death. Now is her mind, full strait with inward joy As if all things, she thought should come to pass: Uttering forth Sighs, unto her pretty boy, Shall Death have thee, and lay thee in the grass, I'll rather go, to Earth from whence I was, Fell Death go seek, for crooked age and old, My Child is fair, unfitting for the mould. I hope to see, more comfort and more joy, Of this sweet Babe, which cost my life almost: I pray thee grim Death, do not him annoy, Go get thee further, to some other Coast. To kill an Infant gives small cause of boast. There's many living, that would gladly die, Take them away, but spare my Child and I. chaste LONDON wives' me thinks I see you all, Each several Mother, hau●ng griefs to show, And with your griefs, I see the Tears do fall, The only Physic, women can bestow, Oh, that I could, but ease your heart sick woe, LONDON would spare, no labour cost not time, To wipe the water, from your blubbered Eyes. But I a skilful Surgeon's part will play, First search the sore, then minister things meet: Unto your memories, I your plants will lay, Causing a fresh your heavy eyes to greet. Then gentler salves, I mean persuasions sweet; This is the surgery wounded LONDON lays To all her Patients, that her hests obeys. One tender mother crieth loud and shrill, Wring her hands, my children both are dead: Sweet loving Henry, and my eldest girl, Ah Bess, my wench thou hadst thy mother sped With sorrows, that will never from my head. Thy forward wit to learning and to awe, A sweeter daughter never woman saw. Thy flaxen hair, thy colour red and white, Thy years full ten, thy body strait and tall, Thy countenance smiling, neither sad nor light, Thy pleasant eyes, thy hands with fingers small, Thy manners mild, thy reading best of all, With needle pregnant, as thy Sampler shows, Patient in death like sucking Lamb she goest My hopes were that I might have kept thy life To see more years, and be a beutious Maid; To see thee matched, and be a LONDON wife, To see thy childbed, and be safely laid, To see thy children in the street have played: To cheer my age, as should a loving daughter, But thou art gone, and I must follow after. My little HENRY, oh, that pretty fool; That oft hath made my sorrowing heart full glad, His words were Mamma: sit, here is a stool, Some bread and butter I have nothing had; I'll buss you well, (good Mamma) be not sad, Up on cock-high, I will sit in your lap, Where oft (poor sweeting) he hath caught a nap. And if sometimes, he heard his Father chide, As household words, may pass twixt man and wife: Unto my Husband, presently he hied As he should say, I will appease the strife; And with his Childish ●hirth, and pleasures rise. Abates the heat, and makes us both to joy: To see such nature, in the little Boy. But Death, oh Death, that hater of my wealth Hath slain my D●ughter, and my little Son: Both of them props, unto my wished health Both to have kept. I would barefoot have run: Fel ATROPOS, her fatal stroke hath done; With the eternal. I believe they rest, Oh, happy Babes, for ever they are blest. Step after Step, I see an other come, Casting her hands, abroad, as she were wood: Seeming to tell a heavy tale to some, But silly Dame, thou art not understood; Speak mildly, lowly, not with chafing blood: For hasty speech, hath seldom reason shown, When soft deliverance, makes the matter known. I am a Widow poor, Christ show me pity, Feeble and weak of years, three score and ten: I had two Daughters, married in the City, Both of them well, & unto honest men; They had my loves, and I had ●heirs again: With them I hoped to spend my aged years, And to be buried, with their funeral tears. To them I gave, that little I possessed, With them to dwell, as long as life insured: Three Months with one, my Custom was to rest, Then, with the other, I like space endured: With us the Devil, no jars nor brawls procured. But lived and loved, as quiet as might be, I bore with them, they daily honouring me. But now alas, a heavy Tale to tell, As with my Chickens, I at pleasure slept: Comes the great Puttock, with his talons fell, And from me quite, my youngest Chicken swept; Then to the other, he full nimbly leapt, Seizing on her, as he had done the other, Oh greedy Death, couldst thou not take their Mother? My age is fitter for the yawning Grave, Their years more tender in the world to stay: My bones are dry, and would their portions have, Their Limbs were nimble, and a while might play; My blood is cold, theirs hot, mine wears away. They both were matched, & fruit might bring forth store I old and withered, and can yield no more. Thou cruel lean, and ill deformed Death, Thou great intruder, and un-welcomde guest: Thou palefaced hog, thou shortner of long breath, Thou mighty murderer, of both man & beast: Why dost thou not, invite me to thy feast? And on my body, show thy fury great That lacks house, lodging, sight, & what to eat. With lamentations, and with Tears good store, Ymmagin now, you hear a Mother's grief: She most of all, her sorrows doth deplore, Uttering forth words, as helpless of relief, She is deprived, of all, both less and chief; Aswell her Children, as her Husband good, With labouring servants that did earn their food. Ah my sweet Babes, what would not I have done? To yield you comfort, & maintain you heer●: Early and late, no labour would I shun, To feed your mouths, though hunger pinched me near; All three at once, I would your body's cheer. Twain in my lap, should suck their tender Mother, And with my foot, I would have rocked the other. Me thinks I see them still, and hear their cries Chiefly a nights when I on bed am laid, Which make fresh tears go from my watery eyes, When I awake and find I am deceived; Sweet pretty Babes, Christ hath your souls received; Fair Babes to me, you near shall come again, But where you are, I trust aye to remain. Your loving father took a great delight, O●ten in Arms to have those children small, And now he hath them ever in his sight, Not one or two, the heavens possess them all, Father and Babes obeyed when Christ did call. They all are gone, I only left with breath, To bide more sorrows in this wretched earth. Poor and in want young widddow left am I, Kindles and friendless, lacking means to live, Had but my servants stayed their work to ply Their labour, would some comfort to me give, My hopes are like to water powered in sieve. Only I trust God will increase my health, That I may work and hate dishonest wealth. Many more sorrows might I here repeat, Of grieved Mothers for their children dear, But times are precious and work too great For my hoarse voice to show and utter here, Only I pray you listen and give ear To LONDON'S sorrows, which so many are, My clacking tongue cannot them hal●e declare. And as with pain I did endure to tell Your too too heavy and unwelcomed woés, Wherein poor LONDON laboured to do well, But wanting gifts, the best she can she shows The willing mind, that all she hath bestows, Must needs be reckoned for a friendly part, Deserving thanks, with as cheerful a heart, Excuse me then, and hear me too, a while, For many sorrows compass me throughout: Never since BRUTUS set footing in this Isle, Nor near since it was walled round about: More blessed news, nor happy spring could sprout; Then did to LONDON, in this present year, When England's CESAR came this City near. All went askant, happy that Merchant was Which had rich wares to please his Chapman's eyes The finest shagges, wrought stuffs, and purest glass, Rare cloth of gold, and silks of every dye: Who for his money could know where to buy, Both went and sent to fetch in wares good store, Not doubting sale for that and three times more. And as they thought a while it did continue, Doings waxed quick, and wares a pace did sell, Great men of honours with their retinue, Approached my City minding here to dwell, Houses and Chambers were let dear and well, There was no corner in me did remain, But the true Owner might employ to gain, With ICARUS, I soaring then aloft, Bathing my limbs in heat of highest son, Till waxen wings with melting heat were soft, And had no power me from the waves to shun, Down must I fall, my glory quite undone, He sits above that looketh down below, Comm●nding powers his justice here to show. And with King DAVID'S chance doth me correct, Spreading his Plague, where pleaseth him to strike; Because in health his laws I did reject, Trusting in means, in man, in horse, and pike: Boasting of riches, beauty and such like. Never redeeming of swift passing times, But still committing new and ugly crimes. And to the end, none dwelling in my City Should think themselves more safer than the rest, judging their slights and not God's lasting pity, To be the cause why they with health are blest; God's judgement upon all degrees are priest, From poorest beggar, to the wealthiest Squire, From youngest infant, to the oldest Sire. For if the aged people he should spare, They would attribute to themselves too much, And say their bloods are dry, their bones so bare, The Pestilence ●heir bodies cannot touch. If middle age should scape, their wits are such, That through their dyet● or by letting blood, They won the victory, and the Plague withstood. The frolic youths would judge the strengths the mean, Boasting of joints, arms, legs and sinews strong, The little infant being weak and lean, Wants substance for the Plague to work upon. These are excuses, but effects have none; God's Messenger (the Plague) doth fear no States, But strikes both lowest and the highest Mates. Now for the rich which have of gold such store, Feeding their bodies with dilicious fare, Keeping great fires, stir not out of door, Using perfumes, shunning infected air; Shall they escape? No, the Plague will them not spare: Because they shall not think their heaped treasure, Can keep them longer than it is God's pleasure. If rich men die, and poorer people stay, They will exclaim with hate and deadly ire, Saying with surfects they cousume the day, Wallowing in ease like dirty Swine in mire, judging thei● scarcity and their thin attire The only Physic, poisons to with stand, But they like others have given death their hand. If any than should scape deaths heavy sight, And claim a pardon for a longer day; The zealous Preacher and the godly wight, Which for themselves, and sor their hearers pray, Might hau● some favour in this world to stay: But God saith no, they sh●ll yield to their kind, Lest they prove haughty which remain behind. There are a people that do lewdly live, Swaggering and swearing, prone to every sin, Sh●ll those men scape? No, they account shall give Of all the vices they have wallowed in. Such wretched caitiffs, made the Lord begin, To strike poor LONDON● with thy heavy rod, For pleasing Satan, and offending God. What should I say my sorrows are so many, One for a thousand I cannot repeat, Within my liberties scarce any, Which have no● felt God's wrath and mighty threat, Either by death, or sickness fell and great, If Parents scap'de, the children had their part, If both remain, their servants felt some smart. The sick bequeather of his wealth by Will, Not only dead, but his executors too, And eke the Scrivener that did make the Bill, All in one fortnight have paid death their due, The like unto the Landlord doth ensue, Both wealthy father, and succeeding heir, With their poor tenants ended have their care. The joyful bridegroom married as to day, Sick, weak, and feeble before table laid, And the next morrow dead and wrapped in clay, Leaving his Bride, a widow, wife and maid. Which sudden change doth make her so dismayed, That griefs and sorrows doth perplex her heart, Within three days she takes her husband's part, Much might I speak of other sad laments, And fill your ears with new and several woes, Spending a week, repeating discontents, Which needless is, where all both sees and knows, How many thousands death and graves enclose: Making me (LONDON) which long time hath slowrished Scorned of those which I both fed and nourished. And thos● that have my glory most set forth, Boasting that I for beauty did excel; Now to approach unto me are so loath, As if my presence were a swallowing hell: Within their houses they refuse to dwell, And to the Country fly like swarms of Bees, Where wealth and credit many of them lose. But most of all my sorrowing heart doth grieve, For such as work and take exceeding care, And by their labour know not how to live, Going poor souls in garments thin and bare, The belly hungry, of flesh lean and spare. Pawning and selling clothes, and what they ●aue, To seed their children which for food do crave. And when poor hearts their hunger once is stayed, The day ensuing brings the like distress: The painful Parents working all their trade For new supply, fell famine to suppress, But all in vain their woes are near the less. Their work being made, abroad poor souls they trot, From Morn to Noon, from Noon to Night, God wot. Offering their wares, and what they have to sell, Unto such Tradesmen as have small pity, But they like NABALS, will not with them mell, Unless for half the worth they may it buy: The rich man laughs, the poor in heart doth cry, Shedding forth tears in sorrow to his wife, This world doth make me weary of my life. The Wife doth weep, the needy servants play, The Children cry for food where none is bought: The Father saith, I cannot sell to day, One jot of work, that all of us have wrought; In every shop, I have for mo●ey sought. And can take none, your hunger to sustain, Tears part from him, the Children cry amain. What shall we do? a counsel strait they take, Meat must be had, our people must not starve, Wi●e, take such things, & go without A LOATE, In HOWNDES' DITCH, pawn them, our great need to serve, They will make sure, if that a day we swerve; All will be lost, our garments are their own, Though for a pound we give a shilling lone. Besides the Bill a polling groat will cost, And every month our pawn must be renewed, So was my Lease to griping usury lost, The first beginner of my sorrows brewed, And ever since want upon want ensued. My bedding forfeit for a thing of nought, My brass and Pewter, want of conscience bought. If now our clothes which clad out naked skin, Should thus be lost, as was our other good, Alas, (poor Wife) what case are we then in, Such shamefast Beggars never asked food. If honest labour could this grief withstood, We would have reckoned day and night as one, To work for meat, rather than make such moan. O you of LONDON, now hear LONDON speak, Especially you Magistrates of might, And wealthy Citizens, whose store is great, I gently woo you to have good foresight, And cast your eyes upon the needy wight, Though fear of sickness drive you hence as men, Yet leave your purse, and feeling heart with them. Remember all, your riches are but lent, Though in this world, you bear such power and sway: Remember too, how soon your years are spent, Remember eke, your bodies are but clay, Remember death, that rangeth at this day. Remember when, poor Lazars woes did end, The full fed glutton, to hell, did descend. Remember rulers, of each public charge, The several branches, of your private oath: Remember them, that use a conscience large, And on themselves, the needyes stock bestow'th, He robs his God, and his poor neighbours both. He that grants blessings, to the poor that lends, Gives treble cursings, to those it miss-spends. Remember likewise, God hath placed you here, To be as nursing, fathers to the poor, Let then your kindness, now to them appear, Give much and be, no niggards of your store: G●d in his wisdom, gave it you therefore. Put forth your talents, and gain ten for five, so shall you in, the heavenly City thrive. One other boon, doth mournful LONDON crave, Of you on whom, her weal and woes depend When in the senate, house with counsel grave, You sit debating, causes how to end. Make some decree, poor working trades to mend, At least set down, some order for their good, That each man may, with labour earn his food. Restrain the number, of devouring drones, That sucks the honey, from the labouring bees. Catching by piece-meal, in their bribes and lones, men's whole estates, which are of poor degrees: And brings them quickly, on their naked knees, Four groats a month, for twenty shillings lent, Is like winds tempest, till the house be rend. The number, numberless of houses vain, Which beer and ale, forsooth make show to sell: Under which colour, doth such vices rain My cheek doth glow, my tongue refrains to tell, Offending God, and pleasing Satan well, Like wicked SODOM, doth my Suburbs lie, A mighty blemish, to fair LONDON'S eye. Reform these things, you heads of LONDON City, Punish lewd vice, let virtue spring and grow: Then Gods just wrath, now hot will turn to pity, And for his children, you again do know: Your former health, on you he will bestow, The Plague and Pestilence, wherewith he visits still, To end or send, are in his holy will. You see the runner, in his race is tripped, Well when he went, dead ere his journeys done: You see how sudden, beauty's blaze is nipped, Which sought all means, death's danger for to shun, You hear what success, follow them that run: Most true report, doth tell us where and how, The countries plague, exceeds the Cities now. Sith than it resteth, in God's mighty power, Who when he please, can bid his Angel stay: Or if he will, destroy you in an hour A thousand years, being with him as one day, Why should you not, to him for mercy pray. Desiring pardon, with a contrite heart, And from your former, wickedness depart. If this you will, incontinently do, The Lord in pity, will his judgements cease, And many blessings will he power on you: Health and long life, Honour & happy peace, Your Foes shall quail, your friends shall still increase, Your wives shall flourish like a fruitful Vine, Your Children prosper, and your griefs decline● Your Terms shall hold, your men of Worth shall stay, Your merchants traffic, and great riches gain, Your Tradesman's sorrows shall be done away, True loyal servants shall with them remain: Your Artisants shall never more complain, Their honest labour so shall thrive and speed, That they shall give to others that have need. And I that long have been a loathed Dame, shall frolic then with mirth and inward glee, Renowned Lady, now must be my name, O famous LONDON, who is like to thee; Thy God is served by men of each degree, Thy Churches filled, thy Preachers burn with zeal, Thy glory shines, O blessed Commonweal. My crowned CESAR and his Peerless Queen, Comes now triumphing with their princely son, Deck●t with rich robes the like was never seen, Nor never none more welcome to LONDON, methinks I see the people how they run, To get them room this happy sight to see, That this may come say all Amen, with me. FINIS. A godly and zealous Prayer unto God, for the surceasing of his ireful Plague, and grievous Pestilence. O LORD God Almighty, the Father of mercies and God of all consolation, we miserable distressed creatures, wounded with th● multitude of our grievous sins, repair unto thee (the Physician of our souls) for Balm to cure our Sores. O Lord, we acknowledge and confess our own unworthiness: great is thy goodness towards us, and great is our ingratitude towards thee. Thou hast opened the Windows of Heaven, and powered out thy blessings upon us, as out of a storehouse or treasury: thou hast given us of the fat of the earth, and fed us with the dew of heaven: peace and plenty have been our portion, and inheritance these many years: the sword hath not devoured us, hunger and famine have not come near us: the knowledge of thy word hath flourished amongst us: And whereas other Nations sit in darkness, and grope at Noon day, being overwhelmed with the fogs & mists of error and superstition, we still enjoy the fruition of thy glorious Gospel, and the sun of righteousness still shineth clearly in our climate: whose sweet influence might hau● caused us (had we not been barren trees) to have brought forth much fruit. But alas, in vain hath the doctrine of thy son Christ jesus, dropped as the dew: in vain have the sweet distilling showers of thy mercies been powered out upon this Land. For we have not yet brought forth the first fruits of the spirit: we have had the first, and the latter rain; but we bring forth the fruit of righteousness, neither first nor last: our Wine is bitter as the Wine of Sodom, and our grapes as the grapes of Gomorrah: we are become as the seed of the wicked corrupt children, disobedient servants, a rebellious people, & now that we are rich, and are waxen fat, we spurn with the h●ele, like the unruly Heifar, we are sick of long prosperity, & have surfeited of peace and plenty: fullness of bread hath caused us to ●●n against three, & we have wearied thee with our iniquities, they are too sore and heavy a burden for us to bear. Therefore is thy visitation come amongst us, & thine hand i● sore against us: therefore hast th●u armed thyself with displeasure, like a man of war, thou hast prepared thy instruments of wrath, thou hast whet thy sword, thou hast bend thy bow, thou hast put thine hand to the quiver, thou hast shot ●ut thine arrows of indignation against us, like a Giant refreshed with wine, hast smitten us, and we are wounded at the heart. Woe unto us, for the voice of lamentation and mourning is heard in our Cities, as when thou slewest the first borne of Egypt. Our houses are left desolate, and men abhor their own inheritance. We are one afraid of another, men hardly trust themselves, yea, scarcely the clothes of their backs. Where are our solemn meetings, and frequent assemblies: men stand a far off: the Streets and high ways mourn: traffic ceaseth: merchandise decayeth: the craftesman and cunning artificer is ashamed of his poverty. These things do we justly suffer for our sins, at thy hands; O God, and yet still we go forwards in our sins, like the swift Dromedorie in his ●ourse: Or like the Ass in the mountains, which draweth in the air at her pleasure, we have not comforted the weak and feeble knees, we have not wept with them that weep. We have not had that sympathy, and fellow-s●lling of each others misery, which ought to be in the members of Christ, Nay, often times while one prayeth in the bitterness and anguish of his spirit, another blasphemeth in the pride and presumption of his heart. Hear one groveleth on the ground, gasping & gaping after life, there another walloweth in th● sink of sin, and puddle of iniquity, vomiting up his own● shame. O God, how displeasing a spectacle is this to thin● eyes: how harsh music (and distempered harmony) is it to thine ears. Therefore thine hand is stretched out, to smit● off the withered branches of those trees which are corrupt. O Lord, thou knowest that it is not in man to direct his own ways. Turn us unto thee, and we shall be turned. Draw thou us, and we will run after the smell of thine ointments. Touch our flinty hearts, and our eyes shall gush out with water, as the stony Rock which Moses smote: Then wilt thou repent thee of this evil, when we have repent us of our sins: then wilt thou turn from us thy fierce wrath, when we have turned from our iniquities: Then will we offer up with the calves of our lips a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving, when thou hast raised us up, out of the pit of our grieved desolation, then shalt thou put mirth and gladness into our hearts. Most merciful Father, let it be enough that we have hitherto borne the storms of thy displeasure, now let thy angry Angel hold his destroying hand: let us not all die in our sins for whom Christ dye●, that we might live unto thee, take away thy cup of indignation from us, and let us drink no more of the dregss of thy fury; save the remnant that are left with thy preservatives of grace, Send thy good Angel unto the ●ings Court, and give him charge over his Majesty, that the arrows that fly by night touch not his sacred pers●n, nor come near his princely Progeny. Let treachery, and conspiracy blush and be ashamed and confounded at their presence: let prosperity attend them on the right hand and on the left: Lord give unto the Nobles, & Senators of this Land, the spirit of wisdom, counsel and understanding: the spirit of true fortitiude, courage● and magnanimity. Inspire the Ministers of thy Gospel with knowledge of thy word, inflame their hearts with a fervent zeal for thy glory: give unto all Superiors, discretion & moderation: unto all inferiors, loyalty and obdedience. More particularly, for ourselves, We pray thee bless our down sitting and our uprising, bless our going forth, and our coming in: save us from the noisome Plague and pestilence, which i● the rod of thy fury, and the hammer of thine indignation, which breakest in pieces like a Potter's vessel irrepentant sinners, therefore suffer us not, we beseech thee, to walk any longer in the stubborness of our own hearts, lest we hoard up vengeance for ourselves in the day of wrath. O Lord illuminate our understandings, reform our irregular disordered affections, mortify our sins, let them die in this night's rest, that to morrow when we awake, we may shake off sins, and live unto righteousness, never fea●ing to go forward from grace to grace, from virtue to virtue, until we have arrived at the haven of rest: whither Christ bring us, which bought us for his mercy's sake: To wh●m with the Father and the holy Ghost, be all honour, power, and dominion, for evermore. Amen. FINIS. A true Relation of all that have been buried of all diseases, in every several Parish; aswell within the City of London, & liberties thereof, as also in the out parishes near thereunto adjoining, from the 14 of july last passed, 1603, to the 17. of November following. Alban's in Woodstreet 174 All-hallows Lumbarstr. 107 All-hallows the great 278 All-hallows the less 220 All-hallows Bredstreet 27 All-hallows stainings 121 All-hallows the wall. ●11 All-hallows Hony-lane 14 All-hallows Barking 411 Alphage at Cripplegate 168 Androwes by the Wardrobe 282 Androwes Eastcheap 104 Androwes undershaft 159 Annes at Aldersgate 140 Anne's Black Friars 240 Auntlins parish 34 Austin's Parish 91 Bartholomew at the Exch: 76 Bennets at Pauls-wharf. 190 Bennets Grace-Church 39 Bennets Finck 93 Bennets Sherhogg 26 Buttols Billingsgate 18 Christ Church parish 323 Christopher's parish 36 Clements by Eastcheap 46 Dennis Backchurch 105 Dunston's in the East 222 Edmunds in Lumbard-st 72 Ethelborow within Bishopsg 156 S. Faiths 101 S. Fosters in Foster-lane 93 Gabriel Fan-Church 66 George's Buttolph-lane 35 Gregory's by Paul's 260 Helen's within Bishopsg. 95 james by Garlickhith 136 john Evangelist 9 john Zacharies' 131 johns in the Walbrooke 133 Katherine's Cree-Church 391 Katherine's Colemans 180 Laurence in the jury 86 Laurence Pountney 157 leonard's Foster-lane 239 leonard's Eastcheap 50 Magnus' parish by the Bridge 107 Margret's New fish-street 81 Margret's Pattens 51 Margret's Moses 67 Margret's Lothbery 99 martin's in the Vintry 242 martin's Organs 89 martin's Iremonger lane 25 martin's at Ludgate 19● martin's Outwich 38 Mary le Booe 26 Mary Bothaw 39 Mary at the hill 1●9 Mary Abchurch 120 Mary Woolchurch 48 Mary Colchurch 10 Mary Woolnoth 85 Mary Aldermary 75 Mary Aldermanbery 78 Mary Stayning● 49 Mary Mountawe 47 Mary Sommerset's 193 Matthew Friday-street 16 Maudlin's in Milk-street 32 Maudlin's by oldfishstreet 128 Mighels Bassie shaw 135 Mighels Cornhill 119 Mighels in Woodstreet 151 Mighel● in the Ryall 99 Mighels in the Querne 59 Mighels Queene-hith 128 Mighel Crooked lane 139 Mildred's Poultry 79 Mildred's Bredstreet 39 Nicholas Acons 32 Nicholas Cole-Abbay 139 Nicholas Olaue 80 Olaf's in the jury 40 Olaf's in Hartstreet 186 Olaf's in Siluer-street 111 Pancras by Soperlave 18 Pete●s in Cornhill 132 Peter in Cheap 45 Peter the poor in broadstr, 44 Peter at Pauls-wharf 95 Steuens in Colman-street 339 Steuens in the Walbrok 22 Swithins at London-stone 116 Thomas Apostles 83 Trinity Parish 116 Without the Walls of London. Androwes in Holborn 1178 Barthelmew the less Smith● 84 Barthelmew the great Smit● 200 Brides Parish 907 Buttols Algate 1465 Buttols Bishopsgate 1202 Buttols without Aldersg. 556 Dunston's in the West 484 Georges in Southwark 895 Giles without Creeplegate 2455 Olaf's in Southwark 2459 saviours in Southwark 1858 sepulchres parish 2219 Thomas in Southwark 245 Trinity in the Minories 39 Clements without Templeb. 624 Giles in the Fields 439 james at Clarkenwell 716 Katherine's by the Tower 639 leonard's Shoreditch 856 martin's in the Fields 458 Mary Whitechappel 1534 magdalen's in Barmondsey— street. 578 Bridewell precinct. 103 At the pest-house 134 The true Number of all that have been buried, aswell within the City of London: as also within the liberties and Subburbes thereof, of all diseases, since the first beginning of this Visitation, is 37717. FINIS.