AN ELEGY On the late FIRE And Ruins of LONDON, By E. Settle. Oxon. LONDON, Printed for W. Crook, in the Strand. 1667. AN ELEGY On the late Fire of London. WHat weep in Verse? Yes, yes, taught by this Fire When burnt to Mourn, but burning to admire. Distilled by measure? A Poetic tear? There's more of Chemistry than nature there. Poet's here needless are, unless the Charm In verse had been sufficient to disarm The force and power of fire, if that could do it Each Loyal Subject would have then turned Poet. But since a rude confused draught fits best, As like th' effects of fire, let me expressed. Decaying Trophies, and declining States, And what the series of Age relates▪ Joined with the Wonders of the World, and all That we may height, or worth, or greatness call, Like Troy entombed in Iliads, story shows The compass of a Nutshell may enclose▪ Or like deceased Potentates of old The narrow volume of a Sheet may hold. Thus London's Beauty, Pomp, Varieties Their only being in a Catalogue lies: Preserved by memory maintained by Fame Lives only in the story and the name. Is Poetry a Rage? Yes justly styled But were't a Fury too, 'twere here too mild: Were it distracted too, A passionate Distraction only makes it imitate. For hark the cries the frights and the complaints Of London's poor deplored Inhabitants. Here an united multitude combine Together all their helpless succour join: As many there distressed in an amaze Beset with tears as sad spectators gaze But Argus' Eyes, joined with Briareus hands Are too too weak supplies to countermand So great a force, which like a torrent gorwes When stopped the greater, and with unlimited measure overflows. The face of Heaven with an unusual veil Is over spread, while the proud fires exhale Innumerous Clouds of smoke, that they appear To make themselves another Hemisphere. That seems to each approaching dazzled sight Both Fire and Smoak, both Hell and Heaven unite. Some the next Church their Sanctuary make And that as Common Treasury partake, But for defence in vain their Wealth remove When for their own their Sanctuaries prove Too weak; in brief 'tis but a short Repreive Surprised at last only a while survive, One Merchant swears the Elements conspire Rescued from Water to be wracked by Fire. Finding more mercy in the raging Waves Whose sinking billows but present their Graves Which here too true he finds: His Merchandise In a confused Chaos buried lies. His Arabian wealth serves but for one Perfume: His Indian, Gold and Silver, reasume Their first Original, and in the Earth, Make that their Tomb whence they received their Birth: Once more, dispersed in a liquid train Both Or and Argent turn into a Vein. Others who once their Honour and Estate In the same Balance weighed, by th' common fate Like Germane emperors youngest sons, now are, Or like declining Kings but Titular. But when I weigh the general loss, I swear If Riches ever yet had wings 'twas there. Here are those Planet's influence of late Which in the Fiery Trigon met, and that Since the great Monarch Cesar wore the Bays But once and then in Carolus Magnus days: One Planet rule a greater? London far Exceeds the power of every weaker Star, For this, to feel its loss, imparts from hence Through the whole Kingdom its sad Influence. Nay threatens Heaven. At this deep Tragedy The Sun's spectator but with half an Eye, Whilst his diminishing and weaker Rays In such a fainting manner he displays, That what was totally then threatened here Some part of an Eclipse they seem to bear. That 'twas a Planet too, a wand'ring Fire It's swift extent and motion did require. But if these Stars rule here, let them complete Their yet continued Aspect, as great As was the former that there may ensue As did the last a Carolus Magnus too. That London may arise and daily higher With its triumphant Monarch may aspire. But as for those professed Astrologers, (Beyond our Sphere,) Heavens Privy Counselors Who know by Signs the very Stars intent, Give reason for't (above my Element.) As if they would foretell what's past. T' apply Portents to a foregoing destiny That's base: The nobler way's, search future Fate Help build another, then foretell of that. But hark (me thinks) I hear some say 'tis just That London's Pride is humbled in the dust. Alas thus fire and smoke have left behind This its one property to make men blind Too like this justice that they plead, unless Ambition height, and Beauty Pride express. Away dark blindness, 'tis the only part Of Ignorance to censure the desert By the event as if that fortune could, Because that, Justice is by merit ruled. Nay were its guilt the highest, who, but mad denies 'twere, thus absolved, too great a sacrifice? And would not cry, quench, quench the Fire, 'tis time Such Incense more than expiates a crime? With Art's variety, and nature's pride, And all the Ornaments i'th' world beside; England's Metropolis once seemed to be A lesser World in an Epitome. But now from such variety is grown So poor reduced to nothing, or but one, And that a Spectacle of sad confusion Whole Ages labour, but one days conclusion. That it might be, and not absurd, affirmed, A disunited union justly termed. Nor doth it in this sad and desolate case Seem only to have changed its state, but place For thus transformed so great a change hath wrought That each Spectatours to a nonplus brought. That the late fire might worthily seem thus converted to an Ignis fatuus; Only that men, but this makes Reason stray▪ And Knowledge too to err as well as they. Such an amaze and horror doth surprise, That the beholder credits not his eyes. 'tis changed, without a Metaphor, I may say From Terr' del' foego to Incognita. 'tis now made destitute, waist, and forlorn, And now in more than Ashes forced to mourn. Here stands a naked Church that's now become Its own and that an Universal Tomb Whose Stone and Pillars are alone survived Being of all other Neighbourhood deprived. As if the fury of the fire had meant At once Urn, Funeral and Monument. So that its Coat of Arms, if but the Sword Excluded were, would properly accord With its last State, what Herald would not yield 'Twere then like London left an Open Field? Were I for any man to choose a Curse Or Banishment, I could not think a worse, Though 'twere his home (were I but to assign him His doom) then hither damn him and confine him. The Fates thus in a Title we may see Or in a Name may write a Destiny. Is Fate Hereditary? Can the line That joineth the descent the Fortune join; For Troynovant thus Ruind from the same Derives its Fortune, whence it took its Name Only the milder Fates ordain by fire This to Revive, but Troy for to Expire, The Ship was burnt which late bore London's Name As the forerunner of its Author's Flame. Whilst Fate in Red Character together Decreed to write the Destinies of either. The like Disaster Chronicles scarce tell But in our Conqueror William's days befell, When London in like sort from Gate to Gate Seemed like a ruind Monument of State. When I consider both, I dare presage The only difference is in the Age: Which to complete each Loyal Subject prays May't likewise happen in a Conqueror's days, Whilst our Victorious Charles proves to our Eyes A Phoenix may out of her Ashes rise. An Anagram on The City London, The City London when I now behold it In its true Anagram Than I Condole it. But when't revives, whose Triumph shall transcend Turning the Anagram, Let Ioie contend. Postscript. Amongst th' effects of Fire this one there is To force a Blush, The Author fears 'tis his. His Labour too that's here Produced, he fears As an Abortive to each sight appears While riper Wits and each judicious Eye Its Imperfections and Defaults descry: Yet begs your Pardon that it came to light Abortive why? Conceived in an affright. Imprimatur R. L' Estrange▪ FINIS.