Upon the Late Lamentable Fire in London, Text
Upon the late Lamentable Fire IN LONDON. In an humble Imitation Of the moſt Incomparable Mr. Cowley his Pindarick Strain. By J. A. of Kings-Colledge in Camb. Fellow.
Licenſed the 1ſt. of December, 1666.
Roger L'Eſtrange.
LONDON, Printed for H. Brome over againſt the Dial in Little-Britain, 1667.
Upon the late LAMENTABLE ACCIDENT OF FIRE IN THE Famous CITY of LONDON: After Mr. Cowley his Pindarick Strain.
I.
AWake proud Man, and take a view,
What miſeries thy ſins perſew,
Thou who art unconcern'd in ſuch a deſperate ſtate,
And only learn'ſt by what is loſt,
And that ſo late:
Thy knowledge proves not worth thy coſt.
Remember the dominion which by Heav'n
In the eſtate of innocence was giv'n,
Think how the whole Creation ſtill
Mov'd by thy Father Adam's will,
The Natures of the Elements were known
To be as harmleſs as his own,
Until in thee
They did combine againſt a Deity,
And their Allegiance, with thy innocence,
Became imperfect thence,
And ever ſince,
Thou who once the whole did'ſt ſway,
Both theirs, and thy own nature doſt obey,
A Lord but lately, yet a ſlave to day.
II.
When the Almighty did repent,
Of what ſo lately he call'd good,
Over the infant World he ſent
An univerſal flood:
But when good Noah's off-ſpring many grew,
(And Noah's ſeed were ſinners too)
When they were ripe for puniſhment, and all
Their vice did for a ſignal judgment call,
The thirſty earth did gape again
Impatient of an other flood of rain,
And opening ſwallow'd ſome alive, becauſe't had lookt in vain.
While Men in ſin grew wiſer yet,
And various in their wickedneſs,
God himſelf did think it fit
Their puniſhment ſhould be no leſs,
The Air it ſelf which makes our breath,
Became an inſtrument of death,
If ſtill offences of a deeper die
Offend his purer eye,
He gives an other Judgment birth,
Fire comes from Heav'n, or Fire from Earth
Thus the four Elements take turns,
He Drowns, he Swallows us alive, he Plagues, or elſe he Burns.
III.
About thoſe hours which ſilence keep
To tempt the froward World to eaſe,
Juſt at the time when cloath'd with ſubtile air,
Guilty ſpirits uſe t'appear,
When the hard Students to their pillows creep,
(All but the Aged Men that wake,
Who in the morn their ſlumbers take)
When Fire themſelves are put to ſleep,
OnelyOnly the thrifty lights that burn, and Melancholick perſons pleaſe
Juſt then a meſſage came,
Brought by a murmuring wind,
Not to every obvious flame,
Thouſands of thoſe it left behind,
And choſe a treacherous heap of ſparks,
Which buryed in their aſhes lay,
Which when diſcover'd by ſome ſecret marks,
The Air fann'd the pale duſt away,
What leſs than Heav'n could e're this meſſage ſend
The Embers glowing wak't, and did attend.
IV.
In an unuſual tone
The Embaſſie deliver'd was,
The teeming Air it ſelf did groan,
Nor for its burden could it farther paſs,
Their Dialects but to themſelves unknown,
OnelyOnly by ſad effects we ſee,
They did agree,
To execute the great Decree,
And all with the ſame ſecrecy conſpire,
That as heav'n whiſper'd to the Air, the Air ſhould to the Fire:
The drowſie Coals no ſooner underſtand
The purport of their large command,
And that th'officious wind did there attend,
Its needful aid to lend,
But ſuddenly they ſeek out
The work they were to go about;
And ſparks which had before unactive lain
Each ſep'rate had his portion tane,
Though ſcatter'd for a while, deſign'd to meet again.
V.
Thus far contriv'd, the Wary Fire
Thinking how many 'twould undoe,
Fearing their juſt complaint,
And the perpetual reſtraint
Men would hereafter put it to;
It winck't, as one would think 'twould fain
Have ſlept again,
Had not the cruel wind roſe higher,
Which forc'd the drooping Coals revive,
To ſave themſelves alive:
Thus without freſh ſupply of food,
Not able to ſubſiſt,
Much leſſe reſiſt
A breath by which they were ſo rudely kiſt,
They ſeiz'd a neighbouring ſtack of wood;
Which ſtrait into one horrid flame did turn,
Not as it ſtood deſign'd to burn:
Thus while each other they oppoſe,
Poor mortals trace the mighty foes,
By the vaſt deſolations, each makes where e're he goes.
VI.
Whether diſpos'd by too much …hlegm,
Or Melancholick, that o're loads the heart,
That turns ſound ſleep to an unruly dream,
And makes the Body with Convulſions ſtart;
Or whether yet ſo much belov'd,
As by his waiting Genius mov'd,
Suggeſting Fire to be his Phancies theam,
That that might work, and he might wake, and all might ſeem
A Sympathetick Dream,
I know not but the Man that own'd the wood did wake,
(A ſeaſonable time when life's at ſtake)
And ſo amaz'd did hardly know
Whether he ſtill did Dream or no;
His ſuddain, and ſurpriſing fear
That would not give him time to arm
Himſelf with thoughts againſt his harm,
Quickly turn'd into deſpair,
Grief for what's loſt afflicts his mind,
Glad he could his Neighbours call,
Then love creeps in to what was left behind,
And hopes of ſaving ſomething, though not all;
His paſſions thus maintaining mutual ſtrife,
Left him juſt wit enough to ſave his life.
VII.
Now uncontroul'd the greedy Fire
Shews its unlimited deſire,
And though not high enough for ſight,
Makes all the neighbouring tops of houſes bright,
Like the warm Gueſt
That takes his journey from the blooming Eaſt,
Suppos'd himſelf t' appear,
When yet beneath our Hemiſphere,
By thoſe who his reflected rayes miſtake,
And think the Sun, and day together break:
The Watches now in every ſtreet
Eccho the dreadful noyſe of Fire,
Which calls with the ſame energy from bed,
As the laſt Trumpet ſhall the dead,
And bids them all draw nigher,
The ſhiv'ring multitudes in bodies meet
And ſome it raiſeth by its light, and others by its heat▪
VIII.
Thoſe ſluggards that did longeſt ſtay
Haſte to ſeek the danger out,
Scarce believing what they heard,
(As truths at diſtance often turn to doubt)
And ſtill they went, and ſtill they feard,
Then blam'd their own delay,
And wonder'd in their way
To meet ſo many up at work, before 'twas break of day:
Now firſt the people underſtood
The ill conſequence of neighbour-hood
Againſt a Fires impetuous force,
For wiſe, though weak, defendants better know
To tire a lawleſs over-bearing foe,
By tedious marches than by open force.
But what hope's left this enemy to ſubdue?
Whoſe forces at each houſe renew,
While one another they undoe,
Whoſe houſes ev'n too many were, and they themſelves too few.
IX.
Now all the fooliſh Engines play,
And all the water they convey,
Will not half its thirſt allay,
So far they are from leſſening its heat,
They ſerve but to digeſt its meat;
And ſtill the ſurly flame doth fiercer hiſs
By an Antiperiſtaſis;
And with ſuch eaſe defi'd
The ſmaller Conduits in full pride,
Towards his mortal foe he did in triumph ride;
Now London thy aſtoniſht Thame
(Then which no River lowder ſung by Fame)
For who knows which moſt honour doth confer
Shee on thee, or thou on her
Having diſpatcht part of her watry train
As tribute to the Uſurping Ocean,
Was glad to ſpare ſome water more
To call them back again,
Shrinking her head from the affrighted Shore,
Fearing before her Flood return'd
Her darling City would be burn'd.
X.
When they drew nigh the folding Flames.
Salute and take their proſpect o're the Thames,
When lo upon the further ſide
They a ſpacious Town eſpi'd,
Hither they bend, whoſe rage admits no ſtay
From any thing, to which there ſeem'd a way,
To find out that, with eager pace
They did the flying peoples footſteps trace
Who ſhun'd their ſcorching face,
And ſeiz'd the wondrous ſtreet which ſtood,
Trampling upon the conquer'd Flood;
Thus buſie man intends
Security 'gainſt what may come amiſs,
Though inconveniencie depends,
On what moſt profitable is;
So who endeavoured to provide
Againſt the damage of a ſwelling tide,
Were almoſt by a ſecond Foe undone,
By that which ſerv'd to fetter one,
When glad they would have ſet the River free
T' have ſwallow'd up the greater Enemy,
Had not the Fire at thoſe ſame Ruines ſtaid
VVhichWhich though ſo many years ago, he knew himſelf had made.
XI.
Though ſtopt in croſſing o're the foaming Tide,
It gain'd along the River ſide,
And roar'd, while yet the water did but glide;
Here it found the richeſt prey
For ſafety was remov'd away,
VVares, whoſe great worth and weight prolong'd their ſtay,
The perſecuting Flame the while grew ſwifter far than they.
By this time the vaſt hollow deep
VVas full, yet did its limits keep
Vaſt piles of Merchandize againſt the Flood
Even with its ſurface ſtood,
Of ſuch as the beſt foreign Coaſt
Or rich America can boaſt,
Their Owners watch them, and did pray
As kind a ſtream as brought them there, would carry them away.
When the expected Flood was come
Some untoucht it reſcu'd, ſome
Half deſtroy'd were quencht, and found within her watry womb;
Thoſe which it could no way ſave,
Had their aſhes in a wave,
With reverence tranſported home.
XII.
Its fury ſtill increas'd, and all
Houſes and Churches undiſtinguiſht fall,
Reſolv'd to know no limits now, leſs than a City wall,
Still the fuel was remov'd,
And ſtill the Fire its force improv'd,
Whoſe eager and devouring heat
Into the heart of th' City eat,
(Whoſe appetite no induſtry could quell)
And when their coſtly Wares were gone,
The place they us'd to traffique on,
Greſham's famous building fell.
The Fire was now ſo monſtrous grown,
It knew no proper fuel of its own,
And ſcarce diſtinguiſht between Wood and Stone:
The advantage Stone had over Wood,
Was only that it ſtood;
And what the Founders Majeſty had wore,
Now only counterfeited well, what was it ſelf before.
As bodies in the dry Egyptian ſand,
Upright in their Repoſitories ſtand,
Preſerv'd by warmth and kept from Air,
Freſh as when living, and as fair;
But once expos'd to outward touch,
Soon betray their Age too much,
By crumbling into-duſt, and our burnt Stone is ſuch.
XIII.
Now with a holy paſſion fir'd
I have vow'd ſome time to meditate,
And think, Great Paul's upon thy Fate,
Whom all the world, not only we admir'd;
Whoſe lofty and unequall'd Spire,
Suffer'd once before by Fire,
But that was from an angry Lightnings flame,
Yet howſoe're it came,
It were abſurd to think it were not ſo,
For what could reach thee from below?
Thou, who for ought I ſee
Might'ſt for ever have been free,
From any Culinary Fire,
Had it not with Pains roſe higher,
Only to ſtare, and to admire;
Till it ſuch a pitch had gain'd,
That it Elementary grew,
Such as Ariſtotle only faign'd,
Oh had it been as harmleſs too;
Now Air ſo much with Fire did ſhare,
That it requir'd an equal care,
As 't did from Fire before, to keep thee now from Air.
XIV.
The circling Flames had taken in
All that did about thee ſtand,
Before they durſt with thee begin,
Whoſe Structure did a reverend fear command;
As by a ſubtile Enemy
Places of ſtrength are firſt ſurvey'd,
Who the weakeſt place deſcry
Before their Batteries are play'd,
So it may of thee be ſaid,
For that to which the Fire did firſt draw near,
Doth yet untoucht appear,
(Thy ſacred Altar which could ne're endure)
Any Fire that was impure:
Now not thy ſtrong foundation
On Faith, defended by Tradition
Of Books, whoſe worth and number was ſo great
They will hereafter ſilence the Vaticans like Fate,
Not thy pious Prince his care,
To have made thee once more fair,
Could ſupport thy aged head,
(No though thou wert a ſacred place)
How fooliſh then were they who thought,
The brutiſh Element was better taught,
Then they who did themſelves thy glory moſt deface.
Thus when thy ſmaller children now were dead,
Thou thy ſelf didſt ſoon decline into thy humble bed.
XV.
When great Pauls was ſeen to fall,
People bid adieu to all,
And what hopes they had, reſign'd,
For they had little reaſon ſure
To think any thing ſecure
When they caſt their eyes behind.
Still it runs, and ſtill it thrives,
Down to the City Gates it drives,
One of which was ſtill poſſeſt
By thoſe who are oppreſt,
With Principal and Intereſt.
Th'other contain'd a deſperate crew
Of Thieves and Murderers too,
Their Goalers gave them timely liberty,
Where they impriſon'd uſe to be,
The Fire it ſelf went free,
To theſe a welcom Gueſt,
And only by ſuch miſcreants bleſt,
Thus on the conqueſt when the Triumph ends
A General Goal-delivery attends:
Soon after this, whether with eating tir'd,
VVhen all the City now was fir'd,
In its own aſhes it expir'd,
How I can't tell, I only know,
It begun ſtrangely, and it ended ſo.
FINIS.
End of the text · John Allison, Upon the Late Lamentable Fire in London (1667)