A brief sonnet declaring the lamentation of Beckles, a Market Town in Suffolk which was in the great wind upon S. Andrew's eve pitifully burned with fire to the value by estimation of twenty thousand pounds. And to the number of fourscore dwelling houses, besides a great number of other houses. 1586.  
To the tune of Labandalashotte.  
 

MY loving good neighbours, that comes to behold,  
Me silly poor Beckles, in cares manifold,  
In sorrow all drowned, which floated of late,  
With tears all bedewed, at my woeful state,  
With fire is consumed, most woeful to view,  
Whose spoil thy poor people, for ever may rue,  
When well you have viewed 〈…〉 decay,  
And pity have pierced, your hearts it may,  
Say thus my good neighbours that God in his ire:  
For sin hath consumed poor Beckles with Fire   

For one only parish, myself I mought vaunt,  
To match with the bravest, for who but will grant?  
The Sea and the Country, me fitting so nigh,  
The fresh water River, so sweet running by,  
My meadows and commons, such prospect of health,  
My Fairs in summer, so garnished with wealth,  
My Market so served, with corn, flesh, and fish,  
And all kind of victuals, that poor men would wish,  
That who but knew Beckles, with sighing may say,  
Would God of his mercy, had spared my decay.   

But O my destruction, O most dismal day,  
My temple is spoiled, and brought in decay,  
My marketstead burned, my beauty defaced,  
My wealth overwhelmed, my people displaced,  
My music is wailing, my mirth it is moon,  
My joys are departed, my comfort is gone,  
My people poor creatures, are mourning in woe,  
Still wandering not wotting, which way for to go, 
A rude fellow by firing his chimney, procured their calamity.   
Like silly poor Troyans', whom Sinon betrayed,  
But God of thy mercy, relieve them with aid,   

O day most unlucky, the wind loud in sky,  
The water hard frozen, the houses so dry,  
To see such a burning, such flaming of fire,  
Such wailing, such crying, through scourge of God's ire,  
Such running, such working, such taking of pain,  
Such whirling, such haling, such reaving in vain,  
Such robbing, such stealing, from more to the less,  
Such dishonest dealing, in time of distress,  
That who so hard hearted, and worn out of grace?  
But pity may pierce him to think of my case.   

But O my good neighbours, that see mine estate,  
Be all one as Christians, not live in debate,  
With wrapping and trapping, each other in thrall,  
With watching, and prying at each others fall,  
With hoving, and shoving, and striving in Law,  
Of God nor his Gospel, once standing in awe,  
Live not in heart-burning, at God never wrest,  
To Christ once be turning, not use him in test,  
Live lovely together and not in discord,  
Let me be your mirror, to live in the Lord.   

But though God have pleased, for sin to plague me,  
Let none think there living is cause they scape free,  
But let them remember, how Christ once did tell,  
Their sins were not greater, on whom the wall fell,  
But lest you repent ye, thus much he doth say,  
Be sure and certain ye also decay,  
Let none then persuade them, so free from all thrall,  
But that their ill living, deserveth a fall,  
Thus farewell: forget not, my woeful annoy,  
God send you new year and   
Finis  
qd D. STERRI  Foelix quem faciunt aliena pericula cantum.  


Each stately Tower with mighty walls up prope,  
Each lofty Roof which golden wealth hath raise?  
All flicke ring wealth which flies in firmest hope  
All glittering hue so haught and highly praised  
I see by sudden ruin of Beckles town  
Is but a blast if mighty love do frown.    

AT LONDON, Imprinted by Robert Robinson for Nicholas Colman of Norwich, dwelling in S. Andrew's Church yard.