| |
| LONDON! hast thou accused me | |
| Of breach of laws? the root of strife! | |
| Within whose breast did boil to see, | |
| So fervent hot, thy dissolute life; | |
| That even the hate of sins, that grow | 5 |
| Within thy wicked walls so rife, | |
| For to break forth did convert so, | |
| That terror could it not repress. | |
| The which, by words, since preachers know | |
| What hope is left for to redress, | 10 |
| By unknown means it liked me | |
| My hidden burthen to express. | |
| Whereby it might appear to thee | |
| That secret sin hath secret spite; | |
| From justice’ rod no fault is free | 15 |
| But that all such as work unright | |
| In most quiet, are next ill rest. | |
| In secret silence of the night | |
| This made me, with a rechless breast, | |
| To wake thy sluggards with my bow: | 20 |
| A figure of the Lord’s behest; | |
| Whose scourge for sin the Scriptures shew. | |
| That as the fearful thunder’s clap | |
| By sudden flame at hand we know; | |
| Of pebble stones the soundless rap, | 25 |
| The dreadful plague might make thee see | |
| Of God’s wrath, that doth thee enwrap. | |
| That pride might know, from conscience free, | |
| How lofty works may her defend; | |
| And envy find, as he hath sought, | 30 |
| How other seek him to offend: | |
| And wrath taste of each cruel thought, | |
| The just shape higher in the end: | |
| And idle sloth, that never wrought, | |
| To heaven his spirit lift may begin: | 35 |
| And greedy lucre live in dread, | |
| To see what hate ill got goods win. | |
| The lechers, ye that lusts do feed, | |
| Perceive what secrecy is in sin: | |
| And gluttons’ hearts for sorrow bleed, | 40 |
| Awaked, when their fault they find, | |
| In loathsome vice each drunken wight, | |
| To stir to God this was my mind. | |
| Thy windows had done me no spight; | |
| But proud people that dread no fall, | 45 |
| Clothed with falsehood, and unright | |
| Bred in the closures of thy wall. | |
| But wrested to wrath in fervent zeal | |
| Thou hast to strife, my secret call. | |
| Indured hearts no warning feel. | 50 |
| O! shameless whore! is dread then gone? | |
| Be such thy foes, as meant thy weal? | |
| O! member of false Babylon! | |
| The shop of craft! the den of ire! | |
| Thy dreadful doom draws fast upon. | 55 |
| Thy martyr’s blood by sword and fire, | |
| In heaven and earth for justice call. | |
| The Lord shall hear their just desire! | |
| The flame of wrath shall on thee fall! | |
| With famine and pest lamentably | 60 |
| Stricken shall be thy lechers all. | |
| Thy proud towers, and turrets high | |
| Enemies to God, beat stone from stone: | |
| Thine idols burnt that wrought iniquity: | |
| When, none thy ruin shall bemoan; | 65 |
| But render unto the righteous Lord, | |
| That so hath judged Babylon, | |
| Immortal praise with one accord. | |
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