VERSES, Presented to his Masters in the Ward of St. Giles' Cripplegate, within the Freedom.  By William Briscoe, Bellman. 

On Christmas Day.  

CHristmass is come; The great Cathedral Feast:  
Christmas, the day of Labour, not of Rest,  
On which the Word, and Workman of Creation,  
Came, not to rest, but work for our Salvation:  
He came, according to Prophetic Truth,  
To work, to be in labour from His youth:  
Descending to a Manger, from his Throne:  
He came to do our business, not his own.    

Another for Christmas Day.  

With Angel's man now sing with cheerful voice,  
More cause hast thou, than Angels to rejoice:  
The Peace proclaimed this morn, is for thy sake,  
For thee did God, our human nature take,  
To gain his lost-sheep-man, of Grace bereft,  
Whilst Ninety Nine, he in the Desert left.    

For St. Stephen's Day.  

BLessed St. Stephen, whom the faithless Jews  
Did apprehend, and falsely him accuse:  
For speaking Truth, he Stoned was to death;  
And for his Deaths-men, prayed to his last breath.  
Being th' first Martyr, as true Story saith,  
That ever suffered for the Christian Faith.    

For St. John's Day.  

St. John, who was surnamed, The Divine,  
Having set forth his Gospel, most Sublime;  
In boiling Oil, confirmed the Truth he wrote,  
Where John received a Martyr's Crown; in Vote  
Of whom we read no other Martyrdom;  
What if John stay (said Christ) until I come?    

For Innocents' Day.  

THE Bethlem-Babes this day received their Harms,  
The Soldiers cut them from their Mother's arms;  
Herod commands it, and it must be done;  
So, to cut off the World's Salvation:  
Nothing could move, nor melt the Tyrant's eyes,  
Not the Babes Innnocence, nor Mother's cries.  
But Herod's cursed Design God did prevent,  
And Christ for safety, was to Egypt sent.    

On the late unhappy Fire in the City.  

Gods' heavy Scourge laid late upon the City,  
What Eye beheld it, but with tears of pity!  
How fast the Fire the Houses did unframe,  
And stately Streets were licked up by the flame!  
The formidable warning of whose Rod,  
Make us use penitent means to move our God,  
To put his Sword of Indignation up,  
Lest all be made to taste of the same Cup.   

Lord, who vouchsafed'st with miraculous speed,  
To free thy Servants here in time of need,  
From th' all-deserving-fury of thy wrath,  
Which on our Neighbours heavy lighted hath:  
Though 'tis acknowledged, we as faulty were  
Whom thou hast spared, as those that suffered there:  
All Praise for this thy special Mercy done,  
Be to thy Name, so long as Ages run.   

London has drunk of Sorrow's Cup so deep,  
That now for Ages, She is laid to sleep;  
But in regard that underneath the Cope,  
She was the Phoenix-City, there is hope  
Our Children may survive to see the day,  
When from th' Old Phoenix-City, London may  
A new proceed; London made new again,  
A penitent Habitation for new men.     

LONDON, Printed Decemb. the 24th, in the Year MDC. LX.VII.