THE FALL and FUNERAL OF NORTHAMPTON, IN AN ELEGY, Late Published in Latin, By the Reverend Dr. S. FORD.  
Since, made English, With some Variation, and Enlarged.  
By F. A. M. A. A sad Spectator of that Frightful SCENE.  
Nec verbum verbo curabit reddere fidus  
Interpres.—  
LONDON: Printed for John Wright, and are to be Sold by William Cockrain, Bookseller in Northampton. 1677.   

TO The Honourable and Right Worshipful THE KNIGHTS and GENTLEMEN COMMISSIONERS and trusties, Appointed by The late ACT of PARLIAMENT FOR RE-BUILDING THE TOWN OF NORTHAMPTON, This Iliad of our Miseries (as in a Nutshell) is presumed to be Dedicated, As to the more Immediate 

Raiser's up of our Foundations,  
Repairers of our Breaches, and  
Restorers of Paths to dwell in,   upon Record.  
And in behalf of all Concerned (as some poor Acknowledgement of our due Thankfulness) Humbly presented you, by one  
(Most Honoured Sirs,) The humblest of your Servants, F. A.   

THE FALL and FUNERAL OF NORTHAMPTON.  

NIne Zodiacs now, and more, the sloaping Sun  
About the wheeling Heavens had run,  
Since London's fatal Doomsday, when, by Flame,  
As Sodom and Gomorrha She became.  
'Twas the same Month, in which Astraea bright,  
With equal balance, weighs out Day, and Night.  
The second Dawn, to London, sprung her bane;  
Northampton's twenty'th Noon, the same:  
When a weak lambent Flame, at first began  
The Wisp, was grasped in a span:  
Spans over all, soon, from the farthest West  
To North, and South, and utmost East.  
Such was Elijah's hand-breadth Cloud, of yore,  
Which spanned the whole Horizon o'er;  
That, on a Sunburnt Earth, refreshing, showers;  
This, flaming Fury on us pours.  

Despise not then a Straw; the poorest thing  
Can swift Destruction on thee bring;  
Dust was a Plague to the proud Pharian King.   
But to return; 'Tis fit the Story be  
Transmitted to Posterity.   

A Cottage poor there stood, at farthest West  
To poor a Covert, and a Nest;  
Thatched over head, and Thatched o'th' floor,  
With Straw and Litter, to the door;  
A Barn, a Stable, or a Hogsty, whether?  
Barn, Stable, Hogs-stye, altogether.  
A Wisp with Embers, from a Neighbour fetched,  
Blazing in hand, the Litter catched.  
The Wind impetuous, at West-Nor-West;  
The Door stood to the Wind, full breast.   

'Tis not the Dust, that doth Affliction bring;  
Nor from the Ground doth Trouble spring!   

Heaven's Bellows blew the Fire, the mounted Flame  
To the Housetop, confirms the same.  
Not twenty Engineers, with all their Art,  
So swift Confusion could impart!  
Hope was, at first, resistance might be made,  
A cheap, and easy conquest had:  
And, to that end, came marching up, in Bands,  
Troops of Auxiliary Hands.  
But O!— The Foe too potent was, and strong,  
To be controlled by a throng.  
The Wind too, with Auxiliary blast  
Augments his fury, and his haste!  
As angry Heaven, with fell-raging fire,  
Both seemed against Us to conspire;  
So, to r'encounter the Vulcanian Might,  
Seemed, against Heaven too, to fight.  
The Foe in Triumph rides, upon the wings  
Of Zephyrus, and Lightning flings;  
That seizes all the neighbouring Thatch, and where  
It lights, it quickly levels there:  
Each flake of Straw inflamed, inflames the Skies,  
Flame, gendering Flame, still centuplyes.   

Insatiable Monster! nothing will  
Thy ravenous, hungry Maw, fulfil!  
The more thou gorgest, still the more dost crave;  
Thy Belly Hell; thy Throat a Grave!  
Thy Potentiality so great, so fierce,  
As to calcine the Universe!  
Thatched Houses, to the Flames are now a Sport,  
Of Power to scale the strongest Fort!  
The underlings, of Covert all made bare;  
The loftier, next, assailed are.  
Nor Arch, nor Buttress, nor Stone-wa ll can fence  
The Structure from its insolence!  
Here, tumbles down a Chimney; there, a Wall;  
Then, the whole Fabric, Roof and all.  
The spattering Stones, in flakes, about the place,  
And Slats, spit Wildfire in the face.  
Beams, Tracing, Rafters tumble in, and Floor;  
Flames vomiting through every Door.  
Each House of Stone a burning Oven, red,  
With its own Furniture is fed.  
Who with devouring Fire can longer dwell?  
There to abide, would be an Hell!   

Confusion such: the Eye not only, here  
Is filled with Horror, but the Ear!  
Noise from one quarter, accented with Moans▪  
Re-Echoes to another's Groans;  
An Howling from a second; from a third  
Heart-piercing Cries, and Shrieks are heard!  
All Ears, the rattling Desolation fills,  
As a great Crashing from the Hills!  
The Foe the Field has won;— No Place for Fight  
Is left us now;— nor yet for Flight.  
By Ambuscade of Fire upon the Ground,  
And Ruins, quite Beleaguered round.  
Some weak Efforts, howe'er; Before we'll yield;  
He shall, by Inches, win the Field.   


Help here:— a Ladder quickly:— yonder's Hook:—  
O:— quickly, quickly:— Sirs, for Godsake look:  
The Fire has here but new now took.   
Some Buckets there:— What are you Stocks, or Stone!—  
Some Water, quickly,— or the House is gone!  
What!— the Pumps burnt!— No Water any where!—  
Go stave the Hogsheads;— fetch up Pails of Beer!  
Dash,— dash;— O quickly;— more;— more yet;— one here!—  
(I charge you stand your Ground)— another there!  
Five Pounds (good fellows) here, as a Reward,  
To stand your Sentry sure, and keep strict Guard.   

One stout Commander, thus, has baffled more  
Th' insulting Foe, than others, twenty score.   

Another cries:— Help here!— another, There!—  
Another;— and another!— Where,— O where,  
A fifth replies;— Sure thou art blind: Another!—  
He quickly choked, and blinded is with Smother.  
One, Hoarse with Bawling; Deaf with the others Noise,  
Has lost his Hearing, with his Voice.  
Distracted each, by dissonant Command,  
Cannot the other understand.  
Babel of old, as in a Scene, you see  
Here present, by an autopsy!  
Confusion, Discrepancy, Tumult, Throng,  
— A Kindness to the Foe; to Them a Wrong:  
Each thwarting other, in the course they take,  
The fury of the Flame to slake.  
Retreat they must;— or Death, or sudden Flight!  
'Tis daring, against Heaven to fight.  
But ah!— the hideous Moans, Laments, and Cries,  
From every Ward that do arise!—  
Hither and thither;— to and fro they run,  
As Wights distracted;— clean undone!  
Fear to their feet adds wings;— but whither then  
To flee, they know not,— woeful Men!  
All Avenues blocked up;— from fire to fire,  
And flame to flame, they must retire.  
Whether they stand their ground; or whether flee;  
Nor here, nor there, from danger free.  
The Women, with Heart-piercing Groans, and Shrieks,  
Beating their Breasts; beating their Cheeks!  
Children, in their shrill Accents, to their Mother,  
Shrieking in Consort, each with other!  
And some are so astonished with the Blow,  
Of this their huge down-bearing Woe,  
Tongue-tied with Grief; to tell each others Wrong,  
Their Eyes usurp the Office of the Tongue.  
They cannot weep, alas! they cannot moan;  
Like Niobe, are turned to stone!  
Or like Lot's wife, when she beheld the wrack  
Of her dear Sodom, looking back!   

Strange property of Flame!— Stone to calcine;  
Flesh to transform, to Stone and Brine!   

Transformed so to Statues view them here,  
By pale astonishment, and fear!  
Smelling of Fire each one; and singed with heat;  
Squalid their Cheeks with dust and sweat!  
Hair stairing; red swollen Eyes; with ghastly Look;  
Blasted by Lightning; Thunderstruckk!  
Offer at words; then stop, and groan, as if  
Their Tongues congealed were, and stiff!   

Unfettered yet remain both Feet, and Hands,  
From those stiff Adamantine Bands:  
Self-preservation, and Instinct will show  
The Offices, these have to do:  
Their Hands, to rescue Luggage, what they might;  
Their Feet, to rescue them, by flight.  
All in a hurry, loaded on his Back,  
Is each one, shifting with his Pack.  
No Arms are empty; and no Shoulders light;  
Yet feel not of their Load the weight.  
What vacant room, in any place, they spy,  
Thither, in haste, with Goods they hie;  
There lodge them:— Back again;— but then, as fast,  
The rapid Flame prevents their haste.  
Then empty handed, back; to guard the same  
Few Goods, were ravished from the flame.  
Care to secure that little, did betray  
Their value, to the Thief a Prey.  
Goods any where, at random hurled, in haste,  
A Rescue from the Fires waste;  
And Goods delivered out to unknown hands,  
Of any one, there next that stands;  
These, too, were ample Spoils to villain Thief,  
Pretending kindness, for Relief.  
O!— may such Vultures fret, with gripes within,  
Of their own self-revenging sin!  
May't prove a Rape, (snatched, as from Altar. Blest)  
With glowing Coals, to fire their Nest!  
Streets piled with Goods; and strait those Pyles became  
Fuel, to their own Funeral Flame.   

A spacious Church there stood, on middle ground,  
With noblest Streets encompassed round:  
This their Asylum; hither all do carry  
Their choicest things, for sanctuary:  
Rich Wares; and richer Books; and Treasure (sure)  
Would here, or no where, be secure.  
But lo! from Horns o'th' Altar they are snatched,  
By Sacrilegious Fire attached!  
Things Sacred, things Profane, are all become,  
To th' greedy Flames, an Hecatomb!   

O!— pray not, then, to Saints!— O! never swerve!  
All Saints themselves could not preserve!   

This goodly Fabric, as a thing forelorn,  
In pensive widowhood doth mourn!  
Like Sheep dispersed, and scattered here, and there,  
Her frequent solemn Meetings are  
Frequented, in her yet remaining Towers,  
By Screech-owl's hoarse, at midnight hours!  
There leave her still (no help, alas!) we must,  
Down-sunk, and buried in her dust.   

Turn we from hence, and see the neighbouring Pyles,  
Flaming about, in Ranks and Files:  
If Desolation, thus, God's House infest,  
What better Quarter may be given the rest?  
Then (to make short) Northampton all, in view,  
But one great Bonfire doth show.   

Now in this general Wrack, 't were strange, if some,  
As Pitchers, came not broken home.—  
Home, did I call't?— Alas!— nor House, nor Home,  
Nor Harbour standing, where to come!  
The Havoc such! the very Plot not known,  
But yesterday it stood upon!  
Yet, Skin for Skin: midst all their Losses, they  
Their Lives had given them, for a Prey.  
This Mercy, 'midst of Judgement, granted thee;  
Better no House to be in, than not be.  
When stripped of all, whilst living; whilst a man;  
The art still a Cosmopolitan!   

Children, some few, shiftless to make Retreat;  
Passed through this burning Tophet's Heat.  

Blessed Innocents'! by Baptism Fire,  
Your Guardian Angels meant to mount you higher,  
Above this Dunghill Earth, and Mire!   
Your Parents, here below, you sorrowing sought;  
Got once to Heaven, they'll find you out.  

This too, shall add some Glory to your Name:  
Your Fates, together both; and both the same:  
Yours, and your native City's Funeral Flame!    

An after-clap of Ruins then befell,  
Renews our Sorrows here to tell!  
Vain Man! (you'll say:) when, by one sudden blast,  
Of rushing Wind, three were in pieces dashed!  
Lighter than Wind, and Vanity, O then,  
Remember still:— that we are men.   

But, (to return) all else with Life retire,  
Though most, as Brands, snatched out o'th' Fire!  
And thus retired, though they in safety be,  
Yet, jealous of their safety, flee.   

The fearful Hare, thus, having gained the start  
Of th' eager Hound, in every part,  
For shelter, to some Covert, swift doth bear;  
No Covert, yet, can shelter her from fear.   

Such, also, is the bleeding Quarries dread,  
From Faulcon's gripes when rescued.  
As they, by little, and by little, came  
Once to themselves; and fears grew tame;  
Their flight restrained somewhat; and the rage  
Of headstrong Passions to assuage:  
Their Piety directs them now, to mind,  
Where they their absent Friends might find.  
How to retrieve, and bring again to light,  
Those sad remains of fire and flight.  
Dispersed, and shuffled multitudes among,  
Each calls on other, in the throng.  
Here, here, cries one;— another, here am I;  
yet cannot one another spy.  
Those, whom their distant voices cannot reach,  
Ask all, they meet with, each of each.  
The Wife:— O, my dear Husband! where is he?  
The Husband:— my poor Wife,— where's she?  
Dear Mother:— O— where, where are you?— where's my Brother?  
O,— my sweet Children!— cries the Mother!   

So, when by ravening Wolf the scattered Fold,  
All o'er the Champain, you behold;—  
The bleating Ewes their Sucklings; bleating Rams.  
Rally their Ewes, and bleating Lambs,  
Till, by alternate bleat, each to either,  
All reunite, and flock together.   

Yet, different here:— for multitudes were fled,  
Whether alive (who knows?) or dead?  
Of whom, before, no tidings could be heard,  
Few, here and there, by chance appeared.  
Those few, are met with, on the selfsame ground,  
Are rather stumbled on, than found.   

For why? to every hospitable Farm,  
The wand'ring Exiles thither swarm,  
No Town, nor Village near, that night, was free,  
From Pilgrims, and heart-melting Sympathy.—  
There leave we them, in safety full of cares,  
And toss on their Beds, and fears.  
Yet let's be civil too, before we start,  
And pay our shot; at least in part:   

Kindhearted Christian, worthy, noble Friends!  
We would, but cannot make amends:  
Your great obliging Love, and Favours such,  
We ne'er can value them too much!  
To harbour the distressed;— to furnish Bread.  
To th' hungry, and half-famished!  
To send us in Provisions every way;  
Load us with kindness, day by day!  
Consult, contrive, assist, with Head and Hands,  
And Heart, and Purse!— O— these are Bands,  
That must oblige!— may Heaven and Earth, repend  
Like blessings on you,— to your end!  
Never may Fire invade you;— may it be  
Your Servant (always)— not your Enemy!  
May peace; and happiness, and safety fall  
Thick— thick, upon your Tabernacles all!   

Thus taking leave; We'll back again to know  
How fare the other amidst all their wo.   

Retired;— the labouring Moon does disappear,  
By charms as ravished from her Sphere!  
A Sable Veil of Black's about her Head;  
In Clouds of Smoke enveloped!  
'T might seem, as if, amated at the sight,  
Swooning, she died away her Light!  
The Light we had, was Flame, to see our Way;  
And that; a counterfeited Day!  
The Coast was clear; th' Inhabitants were fled;  
But none (you may suppose) to Bed.  
Some in the bordering Fields, Church-yard, or Close,  
Back-lanes, or Orchards take repose.  
Scorching and broiling in hot Fire, but new,  
Now wet and shivering in cold Dew.  
Or else, in quest of Friends, that missing were,  
Wandering the Coasts about, in fear.  
Distressed Friends: be not dismayed for all  
These hard misfortunes you befall!  
Chear-up, nor give your black despair the scope;  
So long as Life remains there's hope!  
The time will come (though I no Prophet be)  
Ere long you better days shall see:  
You have a gracious God, a gracious King:  
Mercy from both and bounty spring  
God and the King your Friends, the Country's all  
Shall stand your Friends in general.  
O!— pay we then, to both, here, every where,  
All due Allegiance, and fear.   

Night-shades do vanish;— new sprung day is born  
From eyelids of the purple morn.  
Who is not now on fire to walk the round,  
Of the new desolated ground?  
('Tis a kind of pleasing horror to look back,  
When landed safe upon the Wrack.)   

Here you behold a frightful Solitude,  
Where late the sacred Temple stood.  
Thence to the spacious Market turn your Eyes;  
There the whole ruin'd Checquer lies!  
The Drapery next in heaps of Rubbish down;  
The second Beauty of the Town.  
A third, which from th' adjacent Bridge takes name,  
Laid level with the ground, by Flame!  
St. Gyles to East;— with spacious Abington,  
Streets, hand in hand, lie overthrown!  
Then that, which forward North, along doth roam,  
She's her own Sepulchre become!  
That next an ancient College, long had graced,  
With Ruins utterly defaced!  
The Gold-Street, by Antiphrasis so named,  
With all her Fellows, was inflamed!  
The Horse-frequented Market, all destroyed!  
The fatal Street, St. Mary's void:  
Fatal to all; there 'twas, the Fire began,  
Which all the others overran.  
We'll name no more, though Ruins more we sound,  
Many, in walking of the round.   

Imagine, now, you saw, before your Eye,  
A Lion seized on his Prey:  
No rescue, till full gorged, and glutted, here  
Two Legs lie scattered; there, an Ear.  
Such the proportion is, 'twixt what the Fire  
Devoured; and what was left entire!   

Thus fell Northampton; Darling once to Fame!  
A Victim, now, to angry Flame.  
Great London only, Towering in the Skies,  
Could her great Ruins equalise!   

There yet remains (loved City) to rehearse  
Thy Epitaph, in mournful Verse.   

Epitaphium.  

WAy-faring traveller, who e'er thou be:  
Hold on thy wont Road, and see  
A Spectacle; which (sure) thy thoughts will raise  
To chilling Horror, and Amaze!  
Northampton here, Entombed in her own Dust  
And Ashes lies:— thy Emblem just:  
Thou brave and frolic, shortly, in thy Urn,  
To Dust and Ashes, thus, shalt turn.  
She, at noon day, in health, and happy plight,  
Strait, clouded with a gloomy night!  
Lament her Fall;— with sobs, and flowing Eyes,  
Come celebrate her Obsequies.   

Fair Albion, Queen Regent of our Strand,  
many fair Daughters doth command;  
She, one the fairest, and lovely'st in the throng  
Of Sister Cities, all this Isle among.  
Where Silver Avon doth her Flood combine,  
In Wedlock tie, with Crystal Nine,  
She, in the midst;— they all, as in a Ring,  
About her round encirculing:  
Famed See of Peterborough; Vppingham;  
Huntingdon; Bedford; Buckingham;  
With Warwick; Woster; Lichfeild; Coventre;  
Leicester next; &c ae.  
Name them we may not, here, for want of room,  
(Compendium, best, befits a Tomb.)  
Only, give leave to say:— These, neighbouring all,  
With hundreds more, lament her Fall!   

Fruitful her Soil; delightful was her Seat,  
— In Hill, and Champain, Mead, and Rivulet;  
Healthful her Air,— three Elements conspire  
In one, to bless her;— all, but Fire:  
This works her speedy Ruin;— and with dread,  
Showers Flames, and Vengeance on her head!  
Ah, merciless, dear Element, might she,  
Most truly, now, complain of thee!  
But ah!— she is not: see both here, and there,  
Her shattered Relics, every where!   

Embalm we then, with an officious Verse,  
And pious Tears, her dolorous Hearse!  
Combine her Ashes; recollect her Dust;  
Them to her Urn commit, in Trust!  
Who knows, but she, ere long, a Phoenix, may,  
Spring from those Ashes, bright as day?   

Thy Votes, with ours, O— still and still renew,  
Kind Passenger; And so— A dieu.    
The END.