Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LONDON UNDONE; OR A REFLECTION UPON THE LASTE DISTEROUS FIRE, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LONDON UNDONE; OR A REFLECTION UPON THE LASTE DISTEROUS FIRE, by                    
First Line: No more historians your surmise recant
Last Line: "then you'll conclude with me, the flames were kind, / she was not so much ruin'd, as refin'd"
Subject(s): London Fire (1666); Great Fire Of 1666


No more Historians your surmise recant,
For London's Flames have prov'd her Troy-Novant.
Pack that Pack may, all ready to be gone,
For every man was an Ucaligon.
London, that once was glory of the VVorld,
Heaps upon heaps is in confusion hurl'd!
The Head and Foot, the Root and Branch embrace,
The lofty Turret, and the lowly base.
Tables, and Stools, as they the Flames were woing,
Contribute matter to their own undoing.
Their Goods (alas!) men knew not where to carry,
For even the Churches were no Sanctuary:
Such as convey'd their Treasure to St. Paul,
In hope they there were safe, even they lost all.
No Eye could travel thither, but it meets
Too many Authors in their winding Sheets.
Th' imperious Flames about each Arch did hover,
Till every Book had got on a red cover;
And so continued in that furious rage,
That it writ Finis in the Title Page.
VVhat any sav'd, (as who would not desire?)
He earnt it, for he got it out o' th' Fire.
Our Merchants turn'd (O sad to the beholders!)
Scotch Merchants with their Shops upon their shoulders.
Places were lost where Coach and Cart might meet,
A half burnt Steeple was the Sign o' th' Street.
A dumb deformity could nothing say,
No, not so much as give ye time o' th' day:
Houses lay topsie turvy, Farewel Rents;
For now like Isra'lites, we dwell in Tents:
Here Parson we Pluralities allow,
I fear ye'l scarcely make one Church of two;
For fatal Time with his impartial Sythe
Has mow'd down all, scarce left so much as Tythe.
And what yet much more said is, with the Dead,
A man may see the Living buryed.
But that those Hobnail'd Clowns should be so chubbish,
Whom though we knew much baser then our rubbish:
Those pilfering Country-Coridons, that they
Should come to make of us a second prey;
Ere I'de have answer'd their unjust desire,
I'de first have seen my Goods, and them i' th' Fire.
But then (alas!) men had no time to talk,
No more but so, Take up your Bed and walk,
Into the Fields on that bleak dew-dropt Grass,
Where the Earth Bed, and Heaven its Teaster was.
Infants and aged quarter'd row by row,
Never more Quarters had More-fields then now.
The Miscellany made in every square,
The Counterfeit of the Great Bed of Ware.
Like those in debt; the People durst not trot
Along the Streets, the Stones they were too hot.
This (London) might be spoken of thy fall,
Burnt Wine was plenteous at thy Funeral:
And, as Eye-witness, I may well report
Thy Bearers were those of the better sort.
This to the Field, that to the Water bears,
The City then swarm'd with Philosophers.
In brief, that I may to a period come,
Never was day so sadly burthensome:
Day did I say? Alas! we had no Night,
For a whole week together, 'twas too light.
Ah lovely London! cruel Fate, and strange,
Beauty for Ashes, 'tis a sad Exchange:
When such as did in cieled Houses dwell,
Live now like Hermits in a smoaky Cell:
Me thinks I tremble still at the sad sight,
Where loads were heavy, and the houses light.
Sad Spectacle, for maugre all endeavour,
London departed of a burning Feaver.
Let others look at second Causes, I
See nothing in it but a Deity.
If I look up to Heavens Almighty Lord,
I shall with David see the Angels Sword.
Shall I with AEsop's Dog snarl at the Stone?
No, I'le observe the Hand whence it was throwne.
My Sins have forc'd this Vengeance from my God,
Shall I then kick? No, I will kiss the Rod;
And by Repentance to my God be turning,
Who might have made this Everlasting burning:
Nor doubt I, but, if from our sins we cease,
The Lord of Hosts will be the Prince of Peace.
Then shall this ruin'd City like a Ball,
Rebound so much the higher for her fall.
And with the Phoenix; (Heaven will so contrive,)
From her own Ashes shall again revive.
VVhen, like the Churches you her Streets shall see
Founded, and fronted uniformallie:
Houses so firmly built, so fairly furnisht,
As if it had been burnt, but to be burnisht;
Then you'll conclude with me, the Flames were kind,
She was not so much ruin'd, as refin'd.





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