LONDON's Sins reproved, and Sorrows lamented: OR, A Sober Check, together with a Friendly Admonition, to the wilful, wicked, and woeful City of LONDON, under the consideration of her present grievous Sins, and growing Sufferings.  

ALas, poor London! for thy sake— I am deprived of rest,  
With grief my very heart doth ache,- and pant within my breast,  
To see thy Strength & Beauty fade,— thy Glory thus go down,  
A Famine too upon thy Trade, which did preserve thy Town.  
For, give me leave to tell thee plain, I have true love for thee,  
Although with hatred and disdain— thou hast requited me:  
Therefore in love and tenderness— this word to thee I send,  
A Warning fair in thy distress,— from one that is thy Friend.   

AWake, ye sleepy, sinful souls, awake:  
Behold and see what God is doing now,  
Whose powerful Hand doth even the Kingdom shake,  
And makes the Strongest stoop, submit and bow:  
The Lofty-minded, small, and Great Ones too,  
Shall now be taught to know what God can do.   

Rouse up each drowsy soul, 'tis time to rise,  
For why, the Lord doth knock even at thy door,  
And draws his Angry Sword before thy eyes,  
Because at work thou hast not been before;  
He takes Revenge by day, and eke by night,  
How shall they scape that still in Sin delight?   

For if the Best amongst the rest go down,  
And Judgement fall upon the House of God;  
 
 
 
〈…〉 the Lord to fear?   

Consider then ye stubborn Ranting Crew,  
That still in Sin against the Lord rebel,  
Will neither Love nor Anger work with you,  
To stop your passage in your way to Hell?  
What do you think shall be your portion when  
God comes to reckon with the worst of men?   

O wretched London, dar'st thou still presume  
To ride upon the Chariot-wheels of Sin,  
When every day the Lord doth thee consume,  
And with his Judgements makes thee pale and thin;  
On every side his Vengeance doth appear,  
And yet thou wilt not learn the Lord to fear.   

What art thou still resolved to live and die  
Without Repentance in thy sinful ways?  
Shall Persecution, Blood, and Cruelty  
Be meat and drink unto thee all thy days?  
Besure God will not always take it so,  
Thy wickedness will work thy overthrow.   

Dost thou not feel the mighty Hand of God  
Upon thee now, and many Thousands fall?  
Hast thou not tasted of his angry Rod?  
And yet for Grace dost thou refuse to call?  
If still by Sin thou dost the Lord provoke,  
Thou mayst expect to feel a greater stroke.   

But O thy senseless and obdurate heart,  
Doth yet appear against the Thing that's good;  
Yea, notwithstanding this thy present smart,  
Thou still delightst in Cruelty and Blood;  
Thy Sins, thy Sins are aggravated so,  
My heart even bleeds to think upon thy Wo.   

Why dost thou now lift up a cruel hand  
Against the Sober-minded in this day?  
Why dost thou strive to banish out o'th' Land  
Even those which for thy welfare strive and pray?  
Methinks thy heart should more concerned be,  
To think how soon the Lord may banish thee.   

Why art thou still so hardened in thy mind,  
To bend thy force against the pure in heart?  
Yea, why art thou so wickedly inclined,  
To punish those which do from Sin depart?  
Why dost thou count it such a crime to pray,  
And preach the Word in such a gloomy day?   

I tell thee, London, these provoking Crimes,  
With many more, which still in thee is found,  
Procured hath these sad and woeful Times,  
And caused Justice to besiege thee round;  
And if thy Sins thou wilt not yet forsake,  
The Righteous God will greater Vengeance take.   

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 plainly doth appea● 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Plague did first begin.  
The Lord hath 〈◊〉 Vengeance here and there.  
Even by degrees, according to thy Sin;  
At first he did but little break thy Peace,  
But since thy Sins have caused it to increase.   

And now thy poor Inhabitants do cry,  
Yea, grieve and mourn, even with complaining tears,  
And in thy Streets, do daily drop and die,  
And many thousands forfeited with fears:  
Nay, more than this, 'tis often truly said,  
Thy Living scarce can bury all thy Dead.   

And now behold, thy Lovers all do flee,  
Thy seeming-friends are now become thy foes;  
In thy distress there's none to comfort thee,  
But rather strive thy Comforts to oppose:  
If thou amongst the Countries seek Relief,  
They rather strive to aggravate thy Grief.   

The more Affliction falls upon thy heart,  
And Sorrow doth oppress thy grieved mind,  
The more from them and theirs thou must depart,  
And in thy want thou shalt lest comfort find:  
The more thy fainting spirits gape for breath,  
The more they leave thee to the power of Death.   

O then consider, and in time return,  
Break off thy Sins, amend thy evil ways;  
If for thy Sins thou wouldst but truly mourn,  
Thou mightst have hopes of seeing better days:  
Then be persuaded once to be a Friend  
Unto thyself before thy Final END.   
E. N.   

London, Printed in the Year, 1665.