THE Loyal Incendiary, OR THE GENEROUS BOUTEFIEU. A POEM Occasioned by the Report of the OWNERS bravely setting Fire to the RYE HOUSE, AS THE KING came from NEW MARKET  

I.  
A Sleep the Owner of that ill built Pile,  
That Gothick Heap, (on which Vitruvius ne'er did Smile,)  
(For what but deeply Barbarous can we call  
The place from whence confusion was to fall  
On Caesar on his Brother on us all.)  
A Sleep, or in a Trance the Owner lay;  
When Strait his Guardian Genius to him said  
(Those oft attend, in Circles round the Bed)  
Awake, and in dull Slumber spend thou not this glorious Day  
A day in Fates long roll, for thee designed  
Awake, awake, I say,  
And to my Dictates, bend thy mind.   

II.  
The Ray that struck, and from his Genius came,  
Was an Elixir from the brightest Flame.  
He saw saw 't, and waked, and oped his sparkling Eyes.  
Rolling now in Rhapsodies,  
The Salamander in his hottest Glance,  
Could not a Melting Beam more gloriously advance.  
What Means, says he, this Fever thou hast given,  
As if by passing Hell, we came to Heaven?  
What means the Flame, thou'st thrown into my Breast?  
The Guardian Genius spoke, and Told the Rest.  
Art thou so much a stranger in our Land,  
(I cannot Israel the Island call,  
Though we sometimes had Chiefs were Rebels Tall,  
That in design were high, and did as Lowly Fall,  
As e'er did Absaloms' in War,  
Or proud Achitophel's that at the Bar,  
Still dangerously meddling are.)  
Art thou so much a Stranger, yet I say  
Thou knowst not when that Kings are on their way?  
King's move not in a common Road;  
Their Motion, or their still Abode  
To know, we Ephemerideses must have,  
And pay our Duty Round,  
And Io Paean Sound,  
When e'er the Glorious Light does Rise  
I' th' East;  
Or Beautify the West  
As a Rich Evening Sacrifice;  
Evening to us, To them a Morning Bright:  
For Kings have never an Eclipsed Light.   

IV.  
The King great Charles our Caesar moves,  
And Blessings scatters, as he goes along,  
Along the Spacious Road; While from the Woods and Groves,  
Virtue, and blooming Joys, about him Throng.  
Do you your Joy too Show,  
Do you your Mite bestow,  
And let a quick, Brisk, Nimble flame lay all yond Structure Low.  
Yond Ela●●ed, and ignoble Pile,  
The Shame and Burden of the Glorious Isle.  
Prevent the forked Thunders Dart,  
And quicker Lightning, that may Start  
From some big Bellied Cloud; Let thine own Hand,  
Let thine own Hand apply  
The Flame, till towards the Sky  
It like a Burning Meteor shows,  
Denouncing Terror as it goes,  
To ev'ry Schismatic, within the bounds of all the Land.   

V.  
Pan has sprinkled all the Wood;  
ev'ry Tendrel, ev'ry Bud.  
And a Large ' lustration made,  
Through ev'ry Grot, through ev'ry Dale, through ev'ry shade.  
Where e'er he thought those Trees might grow,  
That Timber gave its Hall up to support,  
From their Tall Tops, down to their Roots below▪  
The Rural Deities assist, and thank him for't.  
Vulcan too within his Round,  
Through all the Concaves underground,  
Through ev'ry Mine, through ev'ry Vein,  
Through ev'ry darksome Channel where he used to reign  
A Purging Urn of Liquid Sulphur throws.  
So to atone  
For all the Glass, the Stone,  
For all the Copper, Iron, and the Lead,  
That does its Bottom prop, or Caps its Base Head.   

VI  
Down, down then with that hated heap,  
May the Flames pierce even to the Centre Deep,  
And Rouse Demogorgon that Lies,  
Wrapped in Drowsy Lethargies,  
And waken him from Sleep.  
Nay further let them go,  
Beyond the Axis Flow,  
Till all the Spotted Earth be purged, to the Antipodes below.   

VII.  
Thus spoke the prompting Genius he  
All ecstasy, surprise, accepts the Augury.  
All Inflamed, he nought but Fire  
With hearty Wish does now desire.  
Doubly so; That in his Breast  
A vigorous Zeal, the rest  
He from its proper Element does now require;  
Or should that Fail,  
From Bright Apollo's Sphere  
He'd gather it by Glasses here.  
Or like Prometheus, Steal  
His Fires from Heaven, and so  
Burn it down, and purge it too.  
Rob a Bright Vestals Altar; And from thence  
Heat, Ruin, Flame, Combustion dispense.  
Gather the Burning Compositions lay,  
And did a Venomed Heat convey.  
(Like glowing Embers) in each Scorched Breast,  
Of that Sooty, black Cabal,  
Were once assembled in Ryes' hated Hall;  
And would the World with Rage, with murder, Mutiny infested   

VIII.  
He Summons ev'ry Wind;  
From ev'ry point, he begs old Aeolus to send  
A Strong, and vigorous blast.  
Old Aeolus consents, and forth they rush in haste  
With Stormy gusts, that Penetrate as those  
The Sweeting Cyclops blows,  
When Vulcan on the Forge, does some brisk Task impose.  
And strongly thus prepared,  
(ere he the Fire to the Pile applied,  
Or put the burning Torches to its Side)  
He thus to Speak was heard.   

IX.  
No more shalt thou a Lurkin place ere be  
(For Man has nought to do with thee.)  
For the rough satire, or the Night,  
Enamoured Owl, or speckled Serpents that in Dens delight:  
Or Ghost, or Wand'ring Beast, or (worse than these)  
The Scarlet Murderer, whom Blood does please,  
And Traitor Dark, and the black Regicide  
No more thou now shalt hide  
In thy Deep Vaults below, or Chambers Wide.  
The Lares and Penates, heard the while;  
And every Household God,  
(That for long term of years, had there his dull abode,)  
Broke forth, and left it to the spoil.  
Around they moved, around they leapt,  
And many an antic tread they stepped,  
Then towards new mansions took their sorrowed. Way  
The Cat, the Rat, the Mouse forsook their Cells.  
Even the Cricket, that in Fire dwells,  
Would now no longer Stay.  
Nor would the Salamander bear,  
The heats, like to be there,  
Where all the Harbours of Rebellious Vice  
Through this hot Fire Shall fall,  
(From the Hut low, unto the Turret Tall)  
As unto Moloch, a Rich Sacrifice.  
And may the Rest of all such Dark abodes  
Meet the like Fate:  
Until the flames in Triumph Sat,  
And the whole Island looked, like the bright Isle of Rhodes   

X.  
The Torches now are light,  
And his brave Arm is stretched out to the utmost Height!  
Aloft, a Low, above beneath it goes:  
And Round about it flame, and round it Fire bestows  
And Round about the Dismal place.  
The fatal Element it flows.  
It runs a Lofty, and a Glorious Race.  
'Twas a Dark Den of Thiefs before,  
It now Looks like a Glorious Sun;  
While in the Elemental Star,  
The Traitors all, like Maculae appear,  
That here their Treasons hatched, and dire Designs begun.   

XI.  
The flames were black, and as they Mounted high,  
They parted Still, when Towering towards the Sky  
Denouncing the Divisions practised there.  
They cannot twist, but moving Jar  
Like other Flame, they Join not in one point,  
One Pyramid; but each from the others Rent:  
And in their Motion fright their Native Element  
For Heaven did yet such Fires never know.  
But all the compositions here,  
(Whatever first they were)  
Were at last tinctured, from deep Hell below.   

XII.  
Heart how they crackle, how they Roar!  
How they Mount, and how they Soar!  
And now the Buttresses give way,  
And now the Massy Beams decay,  
And now that Mural Angle falls.  
Now the remaining Walls;  
And nothing but a Globe of flame is seen,  
As a burning extract bright,  
Amazing with its Light,  
No Sign 'twas e'er a house or aught but flameed had been,  
An Old Original Fire,  
Born and Bred a Meteor,  
And many a Salamander hatch, beneath a Funeral Pire.   

XIII.  
And now farewell thou hated Mansion.  
But hold! 'tis not the House alone,  
The outcircling Wall, and utmost hedge must down  
Fill up the Moat  
(Says the Brave Owner of the spot)  
Were it as Large  
As is Lemanus Lake, I'd bear the charge.  
Root up the accursed Hedge,  
That adjoins to its foul Sedge.  
And from it Slime, does Verdure take.  
(That baneful Hedge from whence their cursed aim they were to make  
Root ev'ry plant were all the Trees  
Within its Circle Hamadryades,  
And each should give a Groan,  
Like Mandrakes, in the pull I'd Spare not one,  
I'd Spare it not, were it Dodonahs' Grove.  
Or Daphne growing there,  
To Laurel turned, when she for Fear  
Flew from Apollo's Love.   

XIV.  
Tear up the Surface where the Villains trod:  
And Calcine ev'ry Stone.  
Tear all the Turf, and each unhappy Clod,  
That they have Stepped upon.  
The Ashes scatter that they yield.  
Purge about the unhallowed Field.  
'Tis done, 'tis done; the Horses pass,  
And without Snortimg by't the Grass:  
Each Beast does to his food repair;  
And fresh again now Circulates the Air.  
The gladded Master briskly goes his round,  
More gladded now, then when at first, he'd Title to the ground  
Wishes the Nation ere to live in peace,  
And with this flame, all dire Combustions cease.   S. P.  

LONDON, Printed and sold by Walter Davis in Amen Corner. 1684.