Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SEASONABLE THOUGHTS IN SAD TIMES, by JOHN TABOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SEASONABLE THOUGHTS IN SAD TIMES, by                    
First Line: The war still slaughters, & the plague destroys
Last Line: The cause, the cure we shall the better know.
Subject(s): London Fire (1666); St. Paul's Cathedral, London; Great Fire Of 1666


At what instant I shall speak concerning a Nation, and
concerning a Kingdom to pluck up, and to pull down,
and to destroy it.
If that Nation against whom I have pronounced, turn from
their evil, I will repent of the evil that I thought
to do unto them, &c.

The War still slaughters, & the Plague destroys,
And England mournful sits, bereft of joys,
Abandoned to sorrow: yet Gods Hand
Is stretched out against this sinful Land:
And as the City London still hath been
The Spring, and Fountain of the Nations sin,
Another wrathful Vial God doth spill
On them, and thence the Land with terror fill.
Heav'n from the former with provoked ire
Shed death among them, but from this a Fire,
A wasting fire: scarce had that Vial done
Dropping down sickness, ere this woe begun,
And all at once in flaming fury thrown
On this great City, quickly burnt it down:
God seem'd to slack his wrath, the Pestilence
Was in a manner quite removed thence:
And having swept the City, thence did come,
And all about the Countrey strangely roame:
And those who hither fled for safety, fly
For danger hence, and gladly homewards hye:
London is quickly fill'd, Trading returns,
No miss, or thought of those are in their urns:
And with the People sin returned too
Unmortified, by all the Plague could do:
This foster'd in their flight, brought home again
In their return, bred their ensuing bane:
They come the same men home, take the old course;
Whom judgments do not mend, they oft make worse:
The Beasts God sav'd in Noah's Ark came out
Beasts as they went in, and some Men, no doubt,
Have no more sense of mercy, when they live,
While God doth others to destruction give:
Cham scapt among the eight in Noah's flood,
Yet this deliverance did not make him good;
He's sav'd, the World destroy'd, yet when all's done
Wicked comes forth and proves a cursed son.
So when the Plague like to a deluge swept
In London, and God there a remnant kept
Alive, and such as to the Countrey fled,
A life in mercy here in safety led;
London replenisht once, the Plagues forgot,
And God that sent it too, the folk no jot
Amended by it, but the Plague is still
Most in their Hearts, when le[a]st 'tis in their Bill:
Therefore as when the Plague of Leprosie
Among the Jews, could no way purged be
Out of their houses, Gods Law did require,
Such houses should be burned down with fire:
So when the Plague of Sin could not be purg'd
From out that sinful City, sharply scourg'd
By that of Sickness, God himself in ire
Burnt down their Houses with consuming fire.
Upon September's second day i' th' year
Much talkt of Sixty six, did there appear
By two i' th' morning these consuming Flames,
Which did break out first in the Street of Thames:
And then blown on by a strong wind into
The City, what e're Art, or strength could do
Of men to stop, or slack its fury, by
The Friday morning did in ruines lie
The greatest part of that within the Wall,
And much beside of that we Suburbs call:
For it broke thorough Newgate, and went on
To Holborn-bridge, and had through Ludgate gone,
Up Fleetstreet unto Temple-bar before
Its fury stopt, and did burn down no more:
If what without the Walls is burnt, you count
For that which stands within, as tant'amount;
Even the whole City in a manner lies
A ruinous heap to all spectators eyes:
To quench this fire men labour'd all in vain,
It wasting run like wild-fire in a train,
Then you might hear at first the doleful sound,
Fire, fire cryed all about the City round,
And there you might behold with weeping eye,
By fire a whole Street, quickly ruin'd lye;
Th' increasing flame mounting its spire to Heav'n,
Laid th' aspiring buildings with earth even:
There might you see the Water-Engines ply'd
With toilsome hands, but God success denyed;
They quickly broke, and peoples hearts while they
Behold their Houses to the flames a prey:
Thousands did strive to quench the fire, but all
Labour'd in vain, the stately Structures fall
Before its fury: Some do water bear;
Others pull down such houses as are near,
To stop its progress, but aloft it flies
O're th' interval, and makes a Sacrifice
Of the next Mansion, thence again doth hast,
The rest with sweeping Vengeance to lay wast:
No Church, no Hall, no House, no Hospitall
Can stand before it, but it ruines all:
What will not burn, it breaks with piercing heat,
And tumbling down with rubbish fills the street:
As when a field of stubble's fired, and
It runs like flowing billows cross the Land
Blown with the wind, or as when torrents fall
From some steep Hills, they bear before them all
Stands in their way: E'ven so this fire runs on,
And in a little time a mile hath gone:
Buildings of all materials you can name,
As stubble were before the spreading flame;
Which like a falling torrent swiftly flows
Through London streets, it comes and down all goes:
Which while the tired people do behold
With deep astonishment; their hearts grow cold
Within them by this fire, when thus they view
The fate of old Troy light upon the new.
Now might you poor distressed people meet
With streams of tears lamenting in each Street:
Were these for sin, they'd sooner quench the flames,
Than all the water of the River Thames.
Some you might see there with extreamest passion,
Bewail their loss as nigh to desperation.
Now might you see our Soveraign Lord the King,
Water himself unto this fire to bring,
I mean in mournful eyes, weeping to see
His Cities ruines, Subjects miserie;
Whose sorrow was their solace, as compassion
To those in woe's a kind of Consolation:
Nor did his tears speak pity only, but
By comfortable words he solace put
Into distressed hearts, and night, and day
Rode up and down from place to place, to stay
By all means possible the running Flame:
Giving forth orders look't to see the same
Effectually performed, ventring where
Inferior persons dar'd not to come near;
And with his hands to labour did not spare,
('Tis said) and to expose his life, through care
To save the City, for a rumor flew
Abroad of treachery, if that be true;
To think, I tremble in what peril then
Our Soveraign was among the rout of men,
When any foe had opportunitie
To act a not to be thought of Tragedie:
But praised be the King of Kings alone,
No hand, or tongue was mov'd by anyone
Against our King, all joy'd, and blest him, when
They saw his care, his grief, his labour then;
But nothing would asswage this furious fire,
Which all attempts to quench did raise but higher:
As the Smiths forge by water grows more hot;
When fire of water mastery hath got:
All limbs, and spirits tired were, but yet
Their hopes grew lesser, and the Flames more great:
Now faint, and weary, and despairing quite
E're to put out the fire, all in a fright,
(Giving o're the whole City to the will
Of God, and fury of the Flames, which still
Rage more, and more) (too soon perhaps) disperse
Their several wayes, to save stuffe, and purse:
As when a Town's besieged, ta'ne and sackt;
Their Goods away like Plunder now are packt:
But many, whom the Flame surpris'd before,
Out of their Houses they remov'd their store,
Lost all their Goods, and in one hour were some,
Wealthy before, mere beggars now become:
And those who most did save, and bear away,
Much of their Goods left to the Flames a prey:
Th' excessive rates of Carrs made much not worth
Removal, though they safe could get it forth:
Some hurrying what they snatcht out of the fire
To the first friends they thought of, when that nigher
Approacht those places, now with speed they were
Compell'd their things away from thence to bear.
And the fire still pursuing them as fast,
Forc't them soon to a third remove in hast:
Thus some to shift their place were oft compell'd,
Who still in hopes the fire would be quell'd,
Would not quite leave the Town, until at last,
All thinking the whole City it would wast;
No other refuge sought but open fields:
Man loth at last unto Gods Judgments yields.
Moore-fields with piles of Goods are fill'd, and there
Their Owners lie abroad in th' open air:
Thousands who lately went secure to bed,
Their dainty limbs on Doun, or Feather spread
In stately Mansions, now abroad must lie,
The Earth their Bed, and Heav'n their Canopie.
And after three days toil, trouble, and fright,
Having no ease by day, nor rest by night,
Nor leisure all this time, due food to eat,
Now in the fields may sleep, but still want meat:
Many who late fed on delicious fare,
Would now skip at a crust, though brown it were:
But hold! with horror think I now upon
(What's yet forgot) the sad condition
Of women then in travail, and such there
As in this time sick, weak, and dying were:
For scarce a day revolved, but you might
Here there of births, and deaths each day and night.
How many sad Benoni's now were born!
While lab'ring mothers through the streets are born.
How many frighted Parents now miscarry,
And travail must, at home they may not tarry!
How many while they in the fields do lie,
Have pangs of Child-birth, and deliverie!
How many dying persons now expire!
Breathing their last like Martyrs in the fire;
Their Souls like Manoah's Angel, soaring on
The mounting Flames to Heav'ns blest Mansion:
How many dead have Roman buryal there!
Their Houses funeral piles wherein they were
Now burned, and lie buried underneath
The ruines of the place, where seiz'd by death.
As when our Saviour in Judea wrought
His powerful Miracles, they sick folk brought
On Beds, and Couches to him; Even so you
Might see them carried forth the City now;
But with this diff'rence, then to him they came
For life, and health, but fly hence for the same:
These were the sad disasters, which the ire
Of Heav'n did punish sinners with by fire:
The Rampant Flames went on victorious still,
On both hands levelling up to Tower-Hill,
Approach't, as if 'twould offer an assault,
But there receiv'd a blow, and made an halt;
Houses blown up, by which a breach was made,
Prov'd the best Rampart now, whereby was staid
The fury of this foe, and in one hour
Gunpowder cool'd his courage, sav'd the Tower:
Is Powder then the way to quench a Flame:
Strangely begun, went on, went out this same.
Stranger Experiment sure ne're hath bin,
Thus by a blast to save the Magazin.
But had the fire came on, the Tower ta'ne,
How had that strong and ancient Structure lain,
Great Britains strength and glory, in the dust!
For want of Ammunition then we must
Yield to our foes; But God (blest be his Name)
Would not commit the Tower to the Flame:
Which elsewhere forward went, Newgate can't hold
This fire, it broke the Prison, and as bold
As ever, unto Holborn-Bridge it straid,
But there through mercy was its fury staid.
Yet still in Fleetstreet did it wander far,
E'ven to the Temple, but God put a barre
There to this lawless fire, and here supprest
This Tyrants raging force, and sav'd the rest;
For which we ought with thankful hearts to raise
To him some Trophies of immortal praise.
Now he that once gave forth his Law in Flame,
Would not at once destroy ours by the same.
Now he that saith, from Truth he will not vary,
Gods mercy was the Temples Sanctuary.
Had not his mercy now a remnant spar'd,
Like Sodom, and Gomorrah we had far'd:
The City for the most part ruin'd lies,
To Gods just vengeance a due Sacrifice;
But through his mercy, just like a fire-brand,
Out of the burning pluckt, the Suburbs stand:
Their Goods for the most part too, and lives he saves,
Who in their houses might have found their graves:
But now when I reflect on what's consum'd,
How many Churches are themselves inhum'd!
How many Hospitals are Cripples made!
How many lofty publick Halls are laid
E'ven with the ground! my quill in tears I steep,
My Muse sits down in dropping Verse to weep.
Now stately Churches in their Graves are laid:
Altars themselves are Sacrifices made:
And now old Paul a Martyr is once more,
And that in England, which we must deplore:
His Temple in the firie Ocean stood
Like to some Island, but the raging flood
Of Flames hath drown'd its glory, over-turn'd
This wondrous Fabrick, wonder! how it burn'd!
The School itself Ignis could not decline:
The Pulpit could not its own fall divine:
Yet falling preacht Earths glory is a trance:
The Organs could not pipe, though the Stones dance:
Paul falls away in's old age, the Saint hath
By strange Apostacy now broke his Faith.
Yet he who when he liv'd wrought many, fell
Not now 'tis said without a Miracle.
His Altar, Clothing, Canopie remain'd
Untouch't, and unconsum'd when the fire reign'd
O're all the rest, lest some Phanaticks shall
Report the bowing that way made him fall.
But since he now lies buried in Faith,
My heart hope of his Resurrection hath:
Where could the Doctor of the Gentiles have,
Than among learned Books, a fitter grave:
Now some obscure Authors, Profane, Divine,
Are brought to light, and their names made to shine:
Some of them said, Tempus est edax rerum,
But this fire proves it self so, and doth jeer 'um.
Were I Poet only, no Divine,
I chiefly might lament the loss of Wine;
But I care not if it were burned all;
Too much of this hath made the City fall.
See how this fire did worldly glory jeere!
View the Exchange! O what a change is here!
Now from the Steeple of the stately Bow
The Bells are shot, and run indeed, but so
That scarcely one of twelve well cast is found;
All are like water spilt upon the ground:
You that were wont to make the Ringers sweat,
Now are your selves in a far greater heat:
Ringers keep up your bells! so we would man,
But they will fall too fast, do what we can:
Now for the bells men wring their hands, to see
How the sweet Ring of Cornhil melted bee:
The Town's on fire, ring the bells backwards all!
Alas! they cannot, for they backwards fall:
For help to save themselves they cannot call,
How sits the City solitary, who
Was full of People only full of woe?
How like a Cottage in a Garden shows,
Or a storm'd Garrison sack't, burnt by foes,
This ancient City! which as stories tell,
Brute built when Samuel judged Israel,
And call'd it Troy-novant, 'twas ominous sure,
And signified Troy's fate it must endure.
Lud afterward rebuilt, more ample made
This City unto Ludgate, which 'tis said,
Deriv'd its name from his, nay some averre,
He his name to the City did transferre;
And changed Troy-novant into Luds-Town,
Which time hath chang'd to London of renown
For age, yet beauty, strength, wealth, glory, scarce
To be paralel'd in the Universe:
The ancient seat of Kings, and royal place
Of British, Saxon, Norman, Scottish race;
And which hath hitherto by age, and time,
Grown but more beautiful, than in its prime:
But not without some alteration, true,
It hath oft like a Snake chang'd skin, and hew:
Nor did it alwayes scape the fire before,
But in the Conquerours twentieth year it bore,
Such marks of wasting Flames as at this day:
The greatest part in ruines then did lay.
Saint Paul's which Ethelbert, of Saxon men
First Christian King, did build, was burnt down then;
This Erkenwald its Bishop had enlarg'd,
Adorn'd, Enricht, all which this fire discharg'd.
But the next year Mauritius piouslie,
Another Prelate of this Ancient See,
Laid the foundation of a far more fair,
Magnificent, and stately Structure there;
Which in process of time, by bounteous hand
Of pious Benefactors, late did stand
This Nations glory, others envy, and
Not to be paralel'd in Christian Land:
The boasted of fair Church of Nostre Dame
In Paris, might be Handmaid to this same;
When our St. Paul was in his pomp, I trow,
Their Lady set by him, would make no show
Until the Steeples Heav'n assaulting Spire,
By Lightning sent from Heav'n was set on fire:
As if this seem'd to imitate the pride
Of Babel builders, whom God did deride,
This lofty Pyramis he burned down;
Which fire seis'd on Paul's roof, & sing'd his crown,
And with its smutty beams, scorched his head,
Black't and defac't the whole Structure, and made
Paul look more like, to such as did him mark,
An Ethiopian, than an English Clark:
The marks of which he for a long time bore,
Nor could regain his beauty as before;
Till to the Land of God, and his own praise,
The Reverend Archbishop Laud did raise
Paul's to its pristine glory; till late times,
When Sacriledge, Rebellion no crimes,
But Vertues were accounted: Some mens zeal
Could devour whole Cathedrals at a meal:
Christ's zeal for Gods House eat him up, more odd
Was this, their zeal eat up the House of God:
The holy Tribe, and service, they cast out,
Brought Horses in, the more beasts they no doubt:
Thus these Phanaticks, O abominable!
Turned the House of God into a Stable;
And Reformation was there never stranger,
Where Altars stood, to set up Rack, and Manger:
Temple profaners must on the sacred floore
Your Horses dung? What could the Turks do more?
The Jews indeed did less, they to a Den
Turned Gods Temple, but it was of men,
Though thieves, but these more brutish, for the nonce
Make it a den of thieves, and beasts at once;
And by such usage, Paul declin'd a pace;
The Souldiers gave him deep scars on his face,
His Walls lookt sadly, and his Gates did mourn,
Until the late miraculous return
Of King, and Bishops, who remov'd th' abuse,
And Paul's restor'd unto its pristine use:
And daily did re-edifie, repair
All parts about it, which lately ruin'd were:
But by this raging fire, which now befell
The City, sparing neither Church, nor Cell,
Paul 'mong the rest into his Grave is thrown,
Whence we expect his Resurrection:
In King, and Bishops, to good works inclin'd
We Ethelbert, and Erkenwalds to find,
And generous Maurit[i]us too do trust;
Who will redeem Paul's once more from its dust:
Nor do I doubt, did we but lay to heart
The causes of our woes, by which we smart:
Or would this stubborn Nation but endure
The means of their Recovery, and Cure:
Th' Almighty would in mercy soon restore
The City to its beauty, or to more:
It should not long as now in ruines lie;
Nor noise of War our borders terrifie:
The killing Plague should in all places cease,
Our Land enjoy Prosperity, and Peace.
Let us consider then of all our woe
The Cause, the Cure we shall the better know.





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