At length, the crackling Noise and dreadful Blaze The next to Danger, hot pursu'd by Fate, And frighted Mothers strike their Breasts, too late, 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 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, And Shreiks of Subjects pierce his tender Breast. Near as he draws, thick Harbingers of Smoke, 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, 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 : He sees the dire Contagion spread so fast, 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; No help avails: For, Hydra-like, the Fire, The Rich grow suppliant, and the Poor grow proud; When others Ruin may increase their Store. As those who live by Shores, with Joy behold 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, Those who have Homes, when Home they do repair, To look how near their own Destruction tends. Those who have none, sit round where once it was As murther'd Men walk where they did expire. Some stir up Coals, and watch the Vestal Fire, And, while through burning Lab'rinths they retire, The most, in Fields, like herded Beasts, lie down ; While by the Motion of the Flames they guess An Infant, waking, to the Paps would press, 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! Be thou my Judge, with what unwearied Care, And stop the Issues of their wasting Blood. Thou, who hast taught me to forgive the ill, Return that Mercy on thy Servants Head. Or, if my heedless Youth has stept astray, 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, And now those few who are return'd agen, 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 : Th' Eternal heard, and from the Heav'nly Quire The fugitive Flames, chastis'd, went forth to prey The wanting Orphans saw with watry Eyes, (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 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, He saw the Town's one half in Rubbish lie, An hollow crystal Pyramid he takes, And hoods the Flames that to their Quarry strove. |