water from your blubbered Eyen But I a skilfull Surgeons part will play First search the sore then minister things meete Vnto yovr memories I your plants will lay Causing a fresh your heauie eyes to greet Then gentler salues I meane perswasions sweete This is the surgery wounded LONDON layes To all her Patients that her hests obayes One tender mother cryeth loude and shrill Wringing her hands my children both are dead Sweet louing Henry and my eldest gyrle Ah Besse my wench thou hadst thy mother sped With sorrowes that will neuer from my head Thy forward wit to learning and to awe A sweeter daughter neuer woman sawe Thy flaxen haire thy collour red and white Thy yeeres full ten thy body straight and tall Thy countnance smilling neither sad nor light Thy pleasant eyes thy hands with fingers small Thy manners milde thy reading best of all With needle pregnant as thy Sampler shewes Patient in death like sucking Lambe she goesâ— My hopes were that I might haue kept thy life To see more yeeres and be a beutious Mayde To see thee match't and be a LONDON wife To see thy childe-bed and be safely layde To see thy children in the streete haue playde To cheere my age as should a louing daughter But thou art gone and I must follow after My little HENRIE oh that prety foole That oft hath made my sorrowing heart full glad His words were Mamma sit here is a stoole Some bread and butter I haue nothing had I le busse you well good Mamma be not sad Vp on cock-high I will sit in your lappe Where oft poore sweeting he hath caught a nappe And if sometimes he hearde his Father chide As housholde wordes may passe twixt man and wife Vnto my Husbande presently he hyed As he should say I will appease the strife And with his Childish â—hirth and pleasvres rise Abates the heat and makes vs both to ioy To see such nature in the little Boy But Death oh Death that hater of my wealth Hath slaine my Dâ—ughter and my little Sonne Both of them proppes vnto my wished health Both to haue kept I woulde barefoote haue runne Fel ATROPOS her fatall stroke hath done With the eternall I beleue they rest Oh happy Babes for euer they are blest Step after Step I see an other come Casting her handes abroade as shee were wood Seeming to tell a heauy tale to some But silly Dame thou art not vnderstoode Speake mildely lowly not with chafing bloude For hastie speach hath seldome reason showne When soft deliuerance makes the matter knowne I am a Widdow poore Christ shew me pittie Feeble and weake of yeeres three score and ten I had two Daughters married in the Cittie Both of them well vnto honest men They had my loues and I had â—heirs againe With them I hop't to spend my aged yeeres And to be buried with their funerall teares To them I gaue that little I possest With them to dwel as long as life ensured Three Monthes with one my Custome was to rest Then with the other I like space endured With vs the Diuel no iarres nor brawles procured But liued and lou'de as quiet as might be I bore with them they dayly honouring me But now alas a heauy Tale to tell As with my Chickins I at pleasure slept Comes the great Puttocke with his Tallantes fel And from me quite my youngest Chicken swept Then to the other he full nimbly leapt Seazing on her as hee had done the other Oh greedy Death could'st thou not take their Mother My age is fitter for the yawning Graue Their yeeres more tender in the worlde to stay My bones are dry and would their porcions haue Their Lymmes were nimble and a while might play My bloude is colde theires hote mine weares away They both were matched fruite might bring foorth store I olde and withered and can yeelde no more Thou cruel leane and ill deformed Death Thou great intruder and vn-welcomde guest Thou palefac't hog thou shortner of long breath Thou mighty murdrer of both man beast VVhy doest thou not inuite me to thy feast And on my body shew thy fury great That lackes house lodging sight what to eate VVith lamentations and with Teares good store Ymmagin now you heare a Mothers griefe Shee most of all her sorrowes doth deplore Vttring foorth woordes as helples of reliefe She is depriu'de of all both lesse and chiefe Aswell her Children as her Husbande good VVith labouring seruantes that did earne their foode Ah my sweet Babes what woulde not I haue done To yeelde you comfort maintaine you heerâ— Early and late no labour woulde I shun To feede your mouthes though hunger pincht me neere All three at once I woulde your bodies cheere Twaine in my lappe shoulde sucke their tender Mother And with my foot I woulde haue rockt the other Me thinkes I see them still and heare their cryes Chiefly a nights when I on bed am layde Which make fresh teares goe from my watry eyes When I awake and finde I am deceiued Sweet pretie Babes Christ hath your souls receiued Faire Babes to mee you nere shall come againe But where you are I trust aye to remaine Your louing father tooke a great delight Oâ—ten in Armes to haue those children small And now he hath them euer in his sight Not one or two the heauens possesse them all Father and Babes obayde when Christ did call They all are gone I onely left with breath To byde more sorrowes in this wretched earth Poore and in want yong widddow left am I Kindles and friendlesse lacking meanes to liue Had but my seruants stayde their worke to plye Their labour would some comfort to me giue My hopes are like to water powrde in syue Onely I trust God will increase my health That I may worke and hate dishonest wealth Many more sorrowes might I here repeate Of grieued Mothers for their children deare But times are precious and worke too great For my hoarse voice to shew and vtter here Onely I pray you listen and giue eare To LONDONS sorrowes which so many are My clacking tongue cannot them halâ—e declare And as with paine I did endure to tell Your too too heauie and vnwelcom'd woés Wherein poore LONDON labour'd to do well But wanting giftes the best she can she showes The willing minde that all she hath bestowes Must needes be reconed for a friendly part Deseruing thankes with as cheerefull a heart Excuse me then and heare me too a while For many sorrowes compasse me throughout Neuer since BRVTE set footing in this Isle Nor nere since it was walled round about More blessed newes nor happy spring cold sprout Then did to LONDON in this present yeere When Englands CESAR came this Citie neere All went asâ—aunt happy that Marchant was Which had rich wares to please his Chapmans eyes The finest shagges wrought stuffes and purest glasse Rare cloth of gold and silkes of euery dye Who for his money could know
will leauâ— all the chardge to me Onely I with you to abandon glee And to my voice prepare your glowing Eares With sighes and groanes and sometimes scalding Teares And if to high my warbling notes ascendes Iudge me not bolde but zealous in my loue If that too lowe thinke that with sighâ—s for friendes My voice is hoarse yet I againe will proue The vtmost power I can for to remoue Your too forgetfull sorrowes which are drye And place them now a fresh in memory Art thou a Father or a Mother deare Hadst thou a Sonne or Daughter of thy side Were not their voice sweete musicke in thy Eare Or from their smiles could'st thou thy countnance hide Nay were they not the glories of thy pride I doubt too much thy loue on them were set That whilst thou liuest thou canst not them forget Remember well you Dames of London Cittie As for you men I le leaue you for a while Because small paines deserues the lesser pity And you are stronger sorrowes to begyle A space we will your company exile And bid you farewell till another day When time and place will giue you cause of stay And now my harts olde Widdowes and yong wiues You that in silence sit so sad and mute You that wring hands as weary of your liues Heare London speake she wil expresse your suite I know your sighes is for your tender fruite Fruite in the budde in blossome ripe and growne All deare to you now death hath made his owne And as the greedy Wolfe from harmeles Ewes Robbs them of Lambes sucking their tender Tett And in his Rigour no compassion shewes But gormondizing kils them for his meate Euen so deaths fury now is growne so great The tender Lambe will not his fury stay Both Lambes and Ewes he swalowes for his pray Witnes I caâ— poore LONDON for my part What palefac't Death within fiue Monthes hath wroughtâ— Seauen hundred Widdowes wounded to the Hart With their sweet Babes which they full dearely boughtâ— Some dead new borne some neuer forth were brought You Mothers weepe if euer you bore any To thinke how sore Death did perplexe so many Not yet content he Rageth vp and downe And secretly his heauy visage shewes In euery streete and corner of the Towne Emptyeing whole houâ—es soone whereas he goes Taking away both olde and young Gâ—d knowes The weeping Mother and the Infant cleare The louing Brother and the Sister deare Oh mothers sigh sit and shed teares a while Expell your idle pleasures thinke on woes Make not so much as countenance of a smile But with downe lookes which inward sorrow showes And now a fresh remember all your throwes Your gâ—ipes your panges your bodies pincht with paine As if this instant you did them sustaine Let not so much forgotten be of you As the least qualme that then your harts opprest No nor the smallest dolor did ensue As heauy wincks and too too little rest Remember al the sorrowes of thy breast Which in the breâ—ding bearing and deliuery You did indure with paine yet willing Againe bethinke you at that instant hower The little diffâ—râ—nce was twixt liâ—e and death When as the insant with his naked power Laboured for life to haue his rightâ—ull birth And with the sickly Mother gaspt for breath The one neâ—e dead as nigh to death the other Sore to the babe worse Trauell for the Mother If any Mother can forget this smart Her for a woman I will neuer take And out of Londons fauor may she part And all such brutish strumpets for her sake For such light hus-wiues I a wish will make That neuer any may approch my Citty Euer to want aâ—d no hart them to pittie And now â—eturne I to you honest wiues Who grieuing sits and sighing send forth Teares Which to your Husbands lyue chast and true liues And with your Children passeth forth your yeares To you that Londons Lamentations heares And are true parteners in my plaâ—nts and mones Experience shewes it by your inward groâ—es The Child new borne the Mother some deâ—le well Are all the griefes and sorrows at an end No cares and troubles yet I haue to tell Though Child be swath'de and sickly Mother mende The feeble Infant many a fret doth send Which grieues the Mother till she weepe againe To heare and see the Infant in such paine And with her seeble hand and weakely strength She playes and dâ—llyes for the babyes good And to her milke-white brestes doth lay at length The prety foole who learnes to take his foode His onely meanes to nourish life and bloud He fedâ— she paynd he drawes poore Mother yeelds Whose louing brests both shutes and prickings feeles And when the Babe doth gather strength a maine Most strongly labouring at his mothers dugge She patiently endureth all the paine Suâ—fering his lippâ—s her nipple still to lugge And with her armes most closely doth it hugge As she should say draw childe and spare not mee My brests are thine I feele no paine with thee Though that poore heart her brest doth ake full sore And inwardly sell prickings shee indures Till eyes gush teares and lippes reach kisses store Which in true mothers gladsome ioyes procures And to more aâ—dent loue them still allures That toares and kisses greet the Babe together Like to sunne-shine when it is dropping weather Ymmagin heere the pretty Lambe doth cry The Mother strong and times of Custome past Will she then leaue it to the worldes broad Eye No whilst her life and vitall powers last The Mothers loue to Child is fixte so fast She stills it straight and layes it to her brest With kisses more then VENVS could disgest And with hâ—r Armes she heaues it high and lowe As if a cradle it sweete foole lay in Doubt you not to she kisses did bestow And if it smile a fresh she doth begin On prety looke a hundred kisses winne My more then sweete vnto her Child she saith I would not for a Kingdome wish thy Death Now is her minde full straight with inward ioyâ— As if all things she thought should come to passe Vttering forth Sighes vnto her prety boy Shall Death haue thee and lay thee in the grasse I le rather goe to Earth from whence I was Fell Death goe seeke for crooked age and olde My Child is fayre vnfitting for the molde I hope to see more comfort and more ioy Of this sweete Babe which cost my life almost I pray thee grimme Death doe not him annoy Goe get thee further to some other Coast. To kill an Infant giues small cause of boast There 's many liuing that would gladly dye Take them away but spare my Childe and I. Chast LONDON wiuesâ— me thinkes I see you all Each seuerall Mother hauâ—ng greefes to shewe And with your greefes I see the Teares doe fall The onely Phisicke women can bestow Oh that I could but ease your hart sicke woe LONDON would spare no labour cost not time To wipe the
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 waxt quicke and wares a pace did sell Great men of honours with their retinue Approch't my Citie minding here to dwell Houses and Chambers were let deare and well There was no corner in me did remaine But the true Owner might imploy to gaine With ICARVS I soring then aloft Bathing my limbes in heat of highest sonne Till waxen wings with melting heate were soft And had no power me from the waues to shunne Downe must I fall my glorie quite vndone He sits aboue that looketh downe below Commâ—nding powers his iustice here to show And with King DAVIDS chance doth me correct Spreading his Plague where pleaseth him to strike Because in health his lawes I did reiect Trusting in menes in man in horse and pike Boasting of riches beautie and such like Neuer redeeming of swift passing times But still committing new and vgly crimes And to the ende none dwelling in my Cittie Should thinke themselues more safer then the rest Iudging their slights and not Gods lasting pittie To be the cause why they with health are blest Gods iudgement vpon all degrees are prest From poorest begger to the wealthiest Squire From yongest infant to the oldest Syre For if the aged people hee should spare They would attribute to themselues too much And say their bloudes are drye their bones so bare The Pestilence â—heir bodies cannot touch If middle age should scape their wits are such That through their dyetâ— or by letting blood They wonne the victorie and the Plague with-stood The frolicke youths would iudge the strengths the meane Boasting of ioyntes armes legges and sinewes strong The little infant being weake and leane Wants substance for the Plague to worke vpon These are excuses but effects haue none Gods Messenger the Plague doth feare no States But strikes both lowest and the highest Mates Now for the rich which haue of golde such store Feeding their bodyes with dilicious fare Keeping great fires stirre not out of doore Vsing perfumes shunning infected ayre Shall they escape No the Plague will them not spare Because they shall not thinke their heaped treasure Can keepe them longer then it is Gods plâ—asure If rich men dye and poorer people stay They will exclame with hate and deadly ire Saying with surfects they cousume the day Wallowing in ease like dirtie Swyne in myre Iudging theiâ— scarcitie and their thinne atyre The onely Phisicke poysons to with stand But they like others haue giuen death their hand If any then should scape deathes heauie sight And claime a pardon for a longer day The zealous Preacher and the godly wight Which for themselues and sor their hearers pray Might hauâ— some fauour in this world to stay But God saith no they shâ—ll yeeld to their kinde Lest they prooue haughtiâ— which remaine behinde There are a people that doe leawdly liue Swaggering and swearing prone to euery sinne Shâ—ll those men scape No they account shall giue Of all the vices they haue wallowed in Such wretched Caytiffes made the Lord beginne To strike poore LONDONâ— with thy heauie rod For pleasing Sathan and offending God What should I say my sorrowes are so many One for a thousand I cannot repeate Within my liberties scarce any Which haue noâ— felt Gods wrath and mightie threate Either by death or sicknesse fell and great If Parents scap'de the children had their part If both remaine their seruants felt some smart The sicke bequeather of his wealth by Will Not onely dead but his executors too And eke the Scriuener that did make the Bill All in one fort-night haue payde death their due The like vnto the Landlord doth ensue Both wealthy father and succeeding heire With their poore tenants ended haue their care The ioyfull Brydegroome married as to day Sicke weake and feeble before table layde And the next morrow dead and wrap't in clay Leauing his Bride a widdow wife and mayde Which sudden change doth make her so dismayde That griefes and sorrowes doth perplexe her heart Within three dayes she takes her husbands part Much might I speake of other sad laments And fill your eares with new and seuerall woes Spending a weeke repeating discontents Which needlesse is where all both sees and knowes How many thousands death and graues inclose Making me LONDON which long time hath slowrish't Scorned of those which I both fed and nourish't And thosâ— that haue my glory most set forth Boasting that I for beautie did excell Now to approch vnto me are so loath As if my presence were a swallowing hell Within their houses they refuse to dwell And to the Countrey flye like swarmes of Bees Where wealth and credite many of them leese But most of all my sorrowing heart doth grieue For such as worke and take exceeding care And by their labour knowe not how to liue Going poore soules in garments thinne and bare The bellie hungry of flesh leane and spare Pawning and selling clothes and what they â—aue To seed their children which for foode doe craue And when poore hearts their hunger once is stayed The day insuing brings the like distresse The painefull Parents working all their trade For new supply fell famine to supprâ—sse But all in vaine their woes are nere the lesse Their worke being made abroade poore soules they trott From Morne to Noone from Noone to Night God wott Offering their wares and what they haue to sell Vnto such Trades-men as haue small pittie But they like NABALS will not with them mell Vnlesse for halfe the worth they may it buy The rich man laughs the poore in heart doth cry Shedding foorth teares in sorrow to his wife This world doth make me wearie of my life The Wife doth weepe the needy seruantes play The Children cry for foode where none is bought The Father saith I cannot sell to day One iot of worke that all of vs haue wrought In euery shoppe I haue for moâ—ey sought And can take none your hunger to sustaine Teares part from him the Children cry amaine VVhat shall we doe a counsell straight they take Meate must be had our people must not starue Wiâ—e take such thinges goe without A LOATE In HOVVNDES DITCH pawne them our great neede to serue They wil make sure if that a day we swaâ—ue All will be lost our garments are their owne Though for a pound we giue a shilling lone Besides the Bill a powling groat will cost And euery Moneth our pawne must be renew'd So was my Lease to griping vsurie lost The first beginner of my sorrowes brew'd And euer since want vpon want insew'd My bedding forfeite for a thing of nought My brasse and Pewter want of conscience bought If now our clothes which clad out naked skinne Should thus be lost as was our other good Alas poore Wife what case are we then in Such shamefast Beggers neuer asked