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At length, the crackling Noise and dreadful Blaze
Call'd up some waking Lover to the sight:
And long it was ere he the rest could raise,
Whose heavy Eye lids yet were full of Night.

The next to Danger, hot pursu'd by Fate,
Half-cloth'd, half naked, hastily retire:

And frighted Mothers strike their Breasts, too late,
For helpless Infants left amidst the Fire.

Their Cries soon waken all the Dwellers near;

Now murmuring Noises rise in every Street: The more remote run stumbling with their fear, And, in the dark, Men justle as they meet.

So weary Bees in little Cells repose;

But if Night-robbers lift the well-stor'd Hive, An humming through their waxen City grows, And out upon each others Wings they drive.

Now Streets grow throng'd and busie as by Day, Some run for Buckets to the hallow'd Quire Some cut the Pipes, and some the Engines play; And some more bold mount Ladders to the Fire.

In vain For, from the East, a Belgian Wind

:

His hostile Breath through the dry Rafters sent; The Flames impell'd, soon left their Foes behind, And forward, with a wanton Fury went.

Old Father Thames rais'd up his Reverend Head, But fear'd the Fate of Simoeis would return : Deep in his Ooze he sought his sedgy Bed,

And shrunk his Waters back into his Urn.

The Fire, mean time, walks in a broader gross,
To either Hand his Wings he opens wide:
He wades the Streets, and streight he reaches cross,
And plays his longing Flames on th' other side.

To every nobler Portion of the Town,

The curling Billows roul their restless Tide: In Parties now they straggle up and down,

As Armies, unoppos'd, for Prey divide.

Now Day appears, and with the Day the King,
Whose early Care had robb'd him of his Rest :
Far off the Cracks of Falling-houses ring,

And Shreiks of Subjects pierce his tender Breast.

Near as he draws, thick Harbingers of Smoke,
With gloomy Pillars, cover all the Place:
Whose little intervals of Night are broke

By Sparks that drive against his Sacred Face.

More than his Guards, his Sorrows made him known, And pious Tears which down his Cheeks did show'r: The Wretched in his Grief forgot their own:

(So much the Pity of a King has pow'r.)

He wept the Flames of what he lov'd so well,
And what so well had merited his Love :
For never Prince in Grace did more excel,
Or Royal City more in Duty strove.

Nor with an idle Care did he behold:

(Subjects may grieve, but Monarchs must redress ;) He chears the Fearful, and commends the Bold, And makes Despairers hope for good Success.

Himself directs what first is to be done,

And orders all the Succours which they bring :
The Helpful and the Good about him run,
And form an Army worthy such a King.

He sees the dire Contagion spread so fast,
That where it seizes, all Relief is vain :
And therefore must unwillingly lay waste

That Country which would, else, the Foe maintain.

The Powder blows up all before the Fire :

Th' amazed Flames stand gather'd on a heap;
And from the Precipices brink retire,
Afraid to venture on so large a leap.

No help avails: For, Hydra-like, the Fire,
Lifts up his Hundred Heads, to aim his way :
And scarce the Wealthy can one half retire,
Before he rushes in to share the Prey.

The Rich grow suppliant, and the Poor grow proud;
Those offer mighty Gain, and these ask more:
So void of Pity is th' ignoble Crowd,

When others Ruin may increase their Store.

As those who live by Shores, with Joy behold
Some Wealthy Vessel split or stranded nigh:
And, from the Rocks, leap down for Shipwrack'd Gold,
And seek the Tempests which the others flie.

So these but wait the Owners last Despair,

And what's permitted to the Flames, invade: Ev'n from their Jaws they hungry morsels tear, And, on their Backs, the Spoils of Vulcan lade.

Night came, but without Darkness or Repose,
A dismal Picture of the gen'ral Doom;
Where Souls distracted when the Trumpet blows,
And half unready with their Bodies come.

Those who have Homes, when Home they do repair,
To a last Lodging call their wand'ring Friends;
Their short uneasie Sleeps are broke with Care,

To look how near their own Destruction tends.

Those who have none, sit round where once it was
And with full Eyes each wonted Room require:
Haunting the yet warm Ashes of the place,

As murther'd Men walk where they did expire.

Some stir up Coals, and watch the Vestal Fire,
Others in vain from sight of Ruin run:

And, while through burning Lab'rinths they retire,
With loathing Eyes repeat what they would shun.

The most, in Fields, like herded Beasts, lie down ;
To dews obnoxious on the grassie Floor:
And while their Babes in Sleep their Sorrows drown,
Sad Parents watch the remnants of their Store.

While by the Motion of the Flames they guess
What Streets are burning now, and what are near

An Infant, waking, to the Paps would press,
And meets, instead of Milk, a falling Tear,

No thought can ease them but their Sovereign's Care, Whose Praise th' Afflicted as their Comfort sing: Ev'n those whom Want might drive to just Despair, Think Life a Blessing under such a King.

O God, said he, thou Patron of my Days,

Guide of my Youth in Exile and Distress!
Who me unfriended brought'st, by wondrous ways,
The Kingdom of my Fathers to possess:

Be thou my Judge, with what unwearied Care,
I since have labour'd for my People's good:
To bind the Bruises of a Civil War,

And stop the Issues of their wasting Blood.

Thou, who hast taught me to forgive the ill,
And recompense, as Friends, the Good mis-led;
If Mercy be a Precept of thy Will,

Return that Mercy on thy Servants Head.

Or, if my heedless Youth has stept astray,
Too soon forgetful of thy gracious Hand:
On me alone thy just Displeasure lay,

But take thy Judgments from this mourning Land.

We all have sinn'd, and thou hast laid us low,

As humble Earth from whence at first we came : Like flying Shades before the Clouds we shew,

And shrink like Parchment in consuming Flame.

O let it be enough what thou hast done;

When spotted Deaths ran arm'd through every Street, With poison'd Darts, which not the Good could shun, The Speedy could out-flie, or Valiant meet.

The living few, and frequent Funerals then,
Proclaim'd thy Wrath on this forsaken Place

And now those few who are return'd agen,
Thy searching Judgments to their Dwellings trace.

O pass not, Lord, an absolute Decree,

Or bind thy Sentence unconditional :

But in thy Sentence our Remorse foresee,

And, in that Foresight, this thy Doom recal.

Thy threatnings, Lord, as thine, thou may'st revoke :
But, if immutable and fix'd they stand,
Continue still thy self to give the Stroke,
And let not Foreign foes oppress thy Land.

Th' Eternal heard, and from the Heav'nly Quire
Chose out the Cherub, with the flaming Sword:
And bad him swiftly drive th' approaching Fire
From where our Naval Magazines were stor❜d.

The fugitive Flames, chastis'd, went forth to prey
On pious Structures, by our Fathers rear'd:
By which to Heav'n they did affect the way,
Ere Faith in Churchmen without Works was heard.

The wanting Orphans saw with watry Eyes,
Their Founders Charity in the Dust laid low :
And sent to God their ever answer'd Cries,

(For he protects the Poor who made them so.)

Nor could thy Fabrick, Paul's, defend thee long, Though thou wert Sacred to thy Maker's Praise : Though made Immortal by a Poets Song;

And Poets Songs the Theban Walls could raise.

The daring Flames peept in, and saw from far
The awful Beauties of the Sacred Quire :
Bnt, since it was prophan'd by Civil War,
Heav'n thought it fit to have it purg'd by Fire.

And now,

four Days the Sun had seen our Woes, Four Nights the Moon beheld th' incessant Fire: It seem'd as if the Stars more sickly rose, And farther from the feav'rish North retire.

At length th' Almighty cast a pitying Eye,
And Mercy softly touch'd his melting Breast:

He saw the Town's one half in Rubbish lie,
And eager Flames drive on to storm the rest.

An hollow crystal Pyramid he takes,
In firmamental Waters dipt above;
Of it a broad Extinguisher he makes,

And hoods the Flames that to their Quarry strove.

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