Upon the late Lamentable Fire IN LONDON. In an humble Imitation Of the most Incomparable Mr. Cowley his Pindaric Strain. By J. A. of Kings-Colledge in Camb. Fellow. Licenced 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 Pindaric Strain. I. AWake proud Man, and take a view, What miseries thy sins pursue, Thou who art unconcerned in such a desperate state, And only learnest by what is lost, And that so late: Thy knowledge proves not worth thy cost. Remember the dominion which by Heaven In the estate of innocence was given, Think how the whole Creation still Moved 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 didst 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 called good, Over the infant World he sent An universal flood: But when good Noah's offspring many grew, (And Noah's seed were sinners too) When they were ripe for punishment, and all Their vice did for a signal judgement call, The thirsty earth did gape again Impatient of an other flood of rain, And opening swallowed some alive, becauseed had looked 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 itself which makes our breath, Became an instrument of death, If still offences of a deeper die Offend his purer eye, He giveth an other Judgement birth, Fire comes from Heaven, 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 clothed with subtle 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, Only the thrifty lights that burn, and Melancholic 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 buried in their ashes lay, Which when discovered by some secret marks, The Air fanned the pale dust away, What less than Heaven could e'er this message send The Embers glowing waked, and did attend. IV. In an unusual tone The Embassy delivered was, The teeming Air itself did groan, Nor for its burden could it farther pass, Their Dialects but to themselves unknown, Only by sad effects we see, They did agree, To execute the great Decree, And all with the same secrecy conspire, That as heaven whispered to the Air, the Air should to the Fire: The drowsy Coals no sooner understand The purport of their large command, And that th'officious wind did there attend, It's needful aid to lend, But suddenly they seek out The work they were to go about; And sparks which had before unactive lain Each separate had his portion ta'en, Though scattered for a while, designed to meet again. V. Thus far contrived, the Wary Fire Thinking how many 'twould undo, Fearing their just complaint, And the perpetual restraint Men would hereafter put it to; It winked, as one would think 'twould fain Have slept again, Had not the cruel wind rose higher, Which forced the drooping Coals revive, To save themselves alive: Thus without fresh supply of food, Not able to subsist, Much less resist A breath by which they were so rudely kissed, They seized a neighbouring stack of wood; Which straight into one horrid flame did turn, Not as it stood designed to burn: Thus while each other they oppose, Poor mortals trace the mighty foes, By the vast desolations, each makes where ere he goes. VI Whether disposed by too much phlegm, Or Melancholic, that o'er loads the heart, That turns sound sleep to an unruly dream, And makes the Body with Convulsions start; Or whether yet so much beloved, As by his waiting Genius moved, Suggesting Fire to be his Fancies theme, That that might work, and he might wake, and all might seem A Sympathetick Dream, I know not but the Man that owned the wood did wake, (A seasonable time when life's at stake) And so amazed did hardly know Whether he still did Dream or no; His sudden, and surprising fear That would not give him time to arm Himself with thoughts against his harm, Quickly turned 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 uncontrolled the greedy Fire Shows 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, Supposed himself t' appear, When yet beneath our Hemisphere, By those who his reflected rays mistake, And think the Sun, and day together break: The Watches now in every street Echo the dreadful noise of Fire, Which calls with the same energy from bed, As the last Trumpet shall the dead, And bids them all draw nigher, The shivering multitudes in bodies meet And some it raiseth by its light, and others by its heatâ–ª 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 feared, Then blamed their own delay, And wondered in their way To meet so many up at work, before 'twas break of day: Now first the people understood The ill consequence of neighbourhood Against a Fires impetuous force, For wise, though weak, defendants better know To tyre 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 undo, Whose houses even 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 defied The smaller Conduits in full pride, Towards his mortal foe he did in triumph ride; Now London thy astonished Thame (Than which no River louder sung by Fame) For who knows which most honour doth confer She on thee, or thou on her Having dispatched part of her watery 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 returned Her darling City would be burned. X. When they drew nigh the folding Flames. Salute and take their prospect o'er the Thames, When lo upon the further side They a spacious Town espied, Hither they bend, whose rage admits no stay From any thing, to which there seemed a way, To find out that, with eager pace They did the flying people's footsteps trace Who shunned their scorching face, And seized the wondrous street which stood, Trampling upon the conquered Flood; Thus busy man intends Security 'gainst what may come amiss, Though inconveniency 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 served to fetter one, When glad they would have set the River free T' have swallowed up the greater Enemy, Had not the Fire at those same Ruins stayed Which though so many years ago, he knew himself had made. XI. Though stopped in crossing o'er the foaming Tide, It gained along the River side, And roared, while yet the water did but glide; Here it found the richest prey For safety was removed away, Wares, whose great worth and weight prolonged their stay, The persecuting Flame the while grew swifter far than they. By this time the vast hollow deep Was full, yet did its limits keep Vast piles of Merchandise 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 untouched it rescued, some Half destroyed were quenched, and found within her watery womb; Those which it could no way save, Had their ashes in a wave, With reverence transported home. XII. It's fury still increased, and all Houses and Churches undistinguished fall, Resolved to know no limits now, less than a City wall, Still the fuel was removed, And still the Fire its force improved, 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 used to traffic on, Gresham's famous building fell. The Fire was now so monstrous grown, It knew no proper fuel of its own, And scarce distinguished between Wood and Stone: The advantage Stone had over Wood, Was only that it stood; And what the Founder's Majesty had wore, Now only counterfeited well, what was itself before. As bodies in the dry Egyptian sand, Upright in their Repositories stand, Preserved by warmth and kept from Air, Fresh as when living, and as fair; But once exposed 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 fired I have vowed some time to meditate, And think, Great Paul's upon thy Fate, Whom all the world, not only we admired; Whose lofty and unequalled Spire, Suffered once before by Fire, But that was from an angry Lightnings flame, Yet howsoe'er it came, It were absurd to think it were not so, For what could reach thee from below? Thou, who for aught I see Mightst 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 gained, That it Elementary grew, Such as Aristotle only feigned, Oh had it been as harmless too; Now Air so much with Fire did share, That it required 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 subtle Enemy Places of strength are first surveyed, Who the weakest place descry Before their Batteries are played, So it may of thee be said, For that to which the Fire did first draw near, Doth yet untouched appear, (Thy sacred Altar which could ne'er 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 thyself didst soon decline into thy humble bed. XV. When great Paul's was seen to fall, People bid adieu to all, And what hopes they had, resigned, 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 possessed By those who are oppressed, With Principal and Interest. Th'other contained a desperate crew Of Thiefs and Murderers too, Their Gaolers gave them timely liberty, Where they imprisoned use to be, The Fire itself went free, To these a welcome 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 tired, When all the City now was fired, In its own ashes it expired, How I can't tell, I only know, It begun strangely, and it ended so. FINIS.