very Lamentable and woful discours of the
fierce fluds, whiche lately flowed in Bedfordshire, in Lincolnshire, and in many other
places, with the great losses of sheep and other Cattel. The v. of October.
Anno Domini 1570.
|
ALl faithful harts come waile
|
Com rent your garments gay:
|
Els nothing can prevaile,
|
To turn Gods wrath away.
|
Of waters fierce and fel,
|
And fluds both huge and hie:
|
You may report and tel:
|
Of places far and nye.
|
Of Monsters very rare,
|
That are unseemly borne:
|
Whiche dooth at large declare,
|
We live as men forlorne.
|
We live and linger stil,
|
We wander quite astray.
|
We want true Christians skil,
|
To gide us in the way.
|
Ful straunge unseemly sights,
|
We may beholde and see:
|
What misdefourmed wights,
|
Of women borne there bee.
|
Ouse bridge was lately lost,
|
By force of roring streame:
|
Which many a crowne hath cost,
|
In this our English realme.
|
Why should I make delay,
|
Reciting of such acts?
|
What neeed I more to say,
|
Of vice and worldly facts?
|
As erst I did pretend,
|
So forward wil I glide:
|
To tel the totall end,
|
What hapned at this tide.
|
By rushing rivers late,
|
In Bedford town no nay:
|
Ful many a woful state,
|
May yeeld to fast and pray.
|
At twelve a clock at night,
|
It flowde with suche a hed:
|
Yea many a woful wight,
|
Did swim in naked bed.
|
Among the rest there was,
|
A woful widow sure:
|
Whome God did bring to passe,
|
The death she did procure.
|
Widow Spencer by name,
|
Asleep shee beeing fast.
|
The flud so rashly came,
|
That shee aloft was cast.
|
Whiche seeing started up,
|
Regarding small her pelf:
|
She lept beside her bed,
|
And so shee drownd herself.
|
The houses very strong,
|
The cattel great and small:
|
Were quickly laid along.
|
And so they perisht all.
|
The Geldings tall and brave,
|
In stables rashly roules,
|
The Churche was over flowed.
|
In Bedford named Poules.
|
The Gardens round about,
|
The sheep in marshe or feeld:
|
The river was so stout,
|
They knew not where to sheeld.
|
The Kine and Oxen to,
|
Were all drowned by force,
|
They west not what to doo:
|
It had so small remorse.
|
O Lord this flud was straunge,
|
And none occation why:
|
The wether did not chaunge,
|
the winde was nothing hie.
|
There was no store of raine,
|
But very little sure:
|
That we should thus sustaine,
|
the losse we did indure.
|
The Arke of father Noy,
|
was had in minde as than:
|
When God did clene destroy,
|
Bothe woman childe and man.
|
But that he promis made,
|
When he did heer remaine:
|
The world should never vade,
|
By waters force againe.
|
Els would we then have thought,
|
The dredful day of doome:
|
Had been bothe shape and wrought,
|
To drown us all and some.
|
Upon the Saboth day,
|
We were amased all:
|
In Church we could not pray
|
But in the Judgement hall.
|
We all assembled there,
|
With praiers moste devout:
|
To God with many a tere,
|
To tame this river stout.
|
No horse nor man could passe,
|
Of busines small or post:
|
For issue none there was,
|
No way but to be lost.
|
In Bedford town I knowe,
|
This many a score of yeeres:
|
Did never rivers flowe,
|
To bring us in suche feares.
|
By chaunce I came in place,
|
This great mischaunce to tel:
|
To end our crooked race,
|
What fortune late befel.
|
Whiche tale no sooner doon,
|
Twoo men along did walke,
|
Betwixt us wee begon,
|
to raise som further talke.
|
What Cuntrey men they were,
|
I did request to knowe:
|
They said of Lincolnshire,
|
the certen trueth is so.
|
Quod they your losse is small,
|
But one hath lost her life,
|
He askt what dame she was,
|
I said one Spencers wife.
|
In Lincolnshire (he said),
|
We have sustaind great losse,
|
Our stomacks are decaide,
|
That late so frolick was.
|
Our Cattel in like cace,
|
Are drownd and cast away,
|
For oure offence in every place,
|
the dum beasts truly pay.
|
We have not scaped so,
|
Bothe widow, man, and wife.
|
Since first this flud did flowe,
|
Have gained losse of life.
|
When that the water seast,
|
As I and more doo knowe,
|
Ther did from skies discend,
|
A great and greevous snowe.
|
And so we parted then,
|
Bewailing bothe togither.
|
Like poor and outcast men,
|
This sudden chaunge of wether.
|
In us therfore for shame,
|
Let vice no more be seene:
|
and eke ourselves so frame
|
To serve aright our Queen.
|
|
|
|
|
|