Lament eche one the blazing fire
That downe from heaven came,
And burnt S. Powles his lofty spyre
With lightnings furious flame.
Lament, I say,
Both night and day,
Sith London's sins did cause the same.

The fire came downe from heaven soone,
But did not strike the crosse,
At fower in the afternoone,
To our most grevous losse.
Could nothing stay
The sad decay:
The lead was molten into drosse.

For five long howers the fire did burn
The roof and timbers strong:
The bells fell downe, and we must mourne,
The wind it was so strong,
It made the fier
To blaze the higher,
And doe the church still greater wrong.

O, London! think on thine amisse,
Which brought this great mishap;
Remember how thou livde in blisse,
And layde in vices lap.
O, now begin,
Repent thy sin,
And say it shall no more entrap.