A Ballad of the Strange and
Wonderful Storm of Hail,
Which fell in LONDON on the 18th. of May 1680, which hurt several men, killed
many Birds, and spoiled many Trees; with other strange Accidents, the like never
before known in ENGLAND.
To the Tune of, Aim not too High.
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GOod Christians all attend unto my Ditty,
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And you shall hear strange News from London City;
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The like before I think you ne'r did hear,
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Which well may fill our hearts with Dread and Fear.
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Upon the Eighteenth of this present May,
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A Tempest strange, pray mind me what I say:
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So strange, I think the like was never known,
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As I can hear of yet by any one.
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Hail-stones as bigg as Eggs a pace down fell,
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And some much bigger, as I hear some tell:
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Who took them up as they lay on the ground,
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And Measur'd, they were found Eight Inches round.
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And Fourteen Ounces two of them did Weigh,
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As one who weigh'd them unto me did say:
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It is so strange, and yet so very true,
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The like before no mortal ever knew.
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Much mischief by these Hail-stones there was done,
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For in St. Leonard Shorditch there was one
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Who as he was a dressing Hemp, 'tis said,
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All on a sudden he was stricken dead.
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His Child being by at this was terrifi'd,
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My Father he is dead, the Child he cry'd:
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At this Out-cry Neighbours came in amain,
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And found the man as they supposed slain.
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Great care was taken by his friends and Wife,
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All Art they us'd to bring him unto Life:
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So that at last they found that he had breath,
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And God preserv'd him from that sudden death.
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He in his Bed in trembling manner lies,
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A stranger sight ne'r seen with mortal eyes:
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His Hat was burnt, the Hair scorcht off his breast,
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With Limbs struck lame, full sad to be exprest.
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The very Fowls that flew up in the Air
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Were stricken dead, it plainly doth appear:
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Wings from their bodies parted by this Hail,
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[S] Story true, although a dreadful Tale.
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Trees of their Branches then was stripped quite,
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Some people from their Houses put to flight:
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Such Terrours then possest the hearts of men,
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The like I hope they'l never see agen.
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Let all good people keep this in their minds,
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He'l nothing lose who for his Sins repines:
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For this I fear fore-runs some stranger things,
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And's sent for warning by the King of Kings.
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Who only knows what there is yet to follow,
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And when the Grave each sinful man shall swallow
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Repent in time and fit your selves for Death,
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Then do not fear how soon you lose your breath.
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Fitted for Death, you fitter are to Live,
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Dispise not then this counsel which I give:
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You do not know when Death shall give the stroke,
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But that once done, your hearts is quickly broke.
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He that's prepar'd, grim Death cannot affright,
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What man doth fear what doth his heart delight:
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A Christian true desires Dissolv'd to be,
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That he may Live with God Eternally.
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These things as judgements surely they are sent,
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That all poor Sinners timely may Repent:
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E're vengeance fall, for then 'twill be too late,
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For to Deplore your Sinful wretched state.
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But them who boldly say, There is no GOD,
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Shall surely taste of his sharp scourging Rod:
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Vengeance shall overtake them e're they know,
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Into the Pit of Darkness they must go.
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FINIS.
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