A proper new sonnet declaring the lamentation of Beckles in Suffolk, which was in the great wind upon S. Andrew's eve last, past most pitifully burned with fire, to the loss by estimation of twenty thousand pound and upward, and to the number of four scoredwelling houses. 1586. To wilson's tune.  

WIth sobbing sighs and trickling tears my state I do lament  
Perceiving how Gods heavy wrath against my sins is bend  
Let all men view my woeful fall and rue my woeful case  
And learn hereby in speedy sort repentance to embrace.   

For late in Suffoclke was I seen to be a stately town  
Replenished with riches store and had in great renown  
Yea planted on a pleasant soil so fair as heart could wish  
And had my markets once a week well stored with flesh and fish   

A fair fresh River running by to profit me withal  
Who with a crystal cleared stream about my banks did fall  
My fairs in summer welth●ly for to increase my store  
My meadows green and commons great what could I wish for more.   

But now behold my great decay which on a sudden came  
My sumptuous buildings burned be by force of fires flame  
A careless wretch most rude in life his chimney set on fire  
The Instrument I must confess of Gods most heavy ire.   

The flame whereof increasing still the blustering winds did blow  
And into divers buildings by dispersed it to and fro  
So kindling in most grievous sort it waxed huge and high  
The River than was frozen so no water they could come by.   

Great was the cry that then was made among both great and small  
The women wept and wrong their hands whose goods consumed all  
No help was found to slack the fire their pains was spent in vain  
To bear their goods into the fields for safeguard they were fain.   

And yet amid this great distress a number set their mind  
To filch and steal and bear away so much as they could find  
Their neighbours wealth which wasted lay about the streets that time  
They secretly conveyed away O most accursed crime.   

Thus from the morning nine a clock till four a clock at night  
Fourscore houses in Beckles town was burnt to ashes quite  
And that which most laments my heart the house of God I say  
The Church and temple by this fire is clean consumed away.   

The market place and houses fair that stood about the same  
Hath felt the force and violence of this most fearful flame  
So that there is no christian man but in his heart would grieve  
To see the smart I did sustain upon saint Andrew's eve.   

Wherefore good christian people now take warning by my fall  
Live not in strife and envious hate to breed each other thrall  
Seek not your neighbours lasting spoil by greedy suit in Law  
Live not in discord and debate which doth destruction draw.   

And flatter not yourselves in sin hold not God's word in scorn  
Repine not at his Ministers nor be not false forsworn  
For where such vices doth remain God's grace will never be  
And in your health and happy state have yet some mind on me.   

Whose songs is changed to sorrows sore my joys to wailing woe  
My mirth to mourning sighs and groans the which from grief doth grow  
My wealth to want and scarsetie my pleasure into pain  
All forth sin and wickedness which did in me remain.   

If then you wish prosperity be loving meek and kind  
Layrage and rancour clean aside see malice from your mind  
And live in love and charity all hateful pride detest  
And so you shall with happy days for evermore be blest.   

And thus I end my woeful song beseeching God I may  
Remain a mirror to all such that do in pleasure stay  
And that amongst their greatest mirth and chiefest joy of all  
They yet may have a heart to thinks of Beckles sudden fall.   
FINIS.  
T. D.   

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