193 Never did men more joyfully obey, Or sooner understood the sign to fly: With such alacrity they bore away, As if to praise them all the States stood by.

194 O famous leader[46] of the Belgian fleet, Thy monument inscribed such praise shall wear, As Varro, timely flying, once did meet, Because he did not of his Rome despair.

195 Behold that navy, which a while before, Provoked the tardy English close to fight, Now draw their beaten vessels close to sh.o.r.e, As larks lie, dared, to shun the hobby's flight.

196 Whoe'er would English monuments survey, In other records may our courage know: But let them hide the story of this day, Whose fame was blemish'd by too base a foe.

197 Or if too busily they will inquire Into a victory which we disdain; Then let them know the Belgians did retire Before the patron saint[47] of injured Spain.

198 Repenting England this revengeful day To Philip's manes did an offering bring: England, which first by leading them astray, Hatch'd up rebellion to destroy her King.

199 Our fathers bent their baneful industry, To check a, monarchy that slowly grew; But did not France or Holland's fate foresee, Whose rising power to swift dominion flew.

200 In fortune's empire blindly thus we go, And wander after pathless destiny; Whose dark resorts since prudence cannot know, In vain it would provide for what shall be.

201 But whate'er English to the bless'd shall go, And the fourth Harry or first Orange meet; Find him disowning of a Bourbon foe, And him detesting a Batavian fleet.

202 Now on their coasts our conquering navy rides, Waylays their merchants, and their land besets: Each day new wealth without their care provides; They lie asleep with prizes in their nets.

203 So, close behind some promontory lie The huge leviathans to attend their prey; And give no chase, but swallow in the fry, Which through their gaping jaws mistake the way.

204 Nor was this all: in ports and roads remote, Destructive fires among whole fleets we send: Triumphant flames upon the water float, And out-bound ships at home their voyage end.

205 Those various squadrons variously design'd, Each vessel freighted with a several load, Each squadron waiting for a several wind, All find but one, to burn them in the road.

206 Some bound for Guinea, golden sand to find, Bore all the gauds the simple natives wear; Some for the pride of Turkish courts design'd, For folded turbans finest Holland bear.

207 Some English wool, vex'd in a Belgian loom, And into cloth of spungy softness made, Did into France, or colder Denmark, doom, To ruin with worse ware our staple trade.

208 Our greedy seamen rummage every hold, Smile on the booty of each wealthier chest; And, as the priests who with their G.o.ds make bold, Take what they like, and sacrifice the rest.

209 But ah! how insincere are all our joys!

Which, sent from heaven, like lightning make no stay; Their palling taste the journey's length destroys, Or grief, sent post, o'ertakes them on the way.

210 Swell'd with our late successes on the foe, Which France and Holland wanted power to cross, We urge an unseen fate to lay us low, And feed their envious eyes with English loss.

211 Each element His dread command obeys, Who makes or ruins with a smile or frown; Who, as by one he did our nation raise, So now he with another pulls us down.

212 Yet London, empress of the northern clime, By an high fate thou greatly didst expire; Great as the world's, which, at the death of time Must fall, and rise a n.o.bler frame by fire!

213 As when some dire usurper[48] Heaven provides, To scourge his country with a lawless sway; His birth perhaps some petty village hides, And sets his cradle out of fortune's way.

214 Till fully ripe his swelling fate breaks out, And hurries him to mighty mischiefs on: His prince, surprised at first, no ill could doubt, And wants the power to meet it when 'tis known.

215 Such was the rise of this prodigious fire, Which, in mean buildings first obscurely bred, From thence did soon to open streets aspire, And straight to palaces and temples spread.

216 The diligence of trades and noiseful gain, And luxury more late, asleep were laid: All was the night's; and in her silent reign No sound the rest of nature did invade.

217 In this deep quiet, from what source unknown, Those seeds of fire their fatal birth disclose; And first few scattering sparks about were blown, Big with the flames that to our ruin rose.

218 Then in some close-pent room it crept along, And, smouldering as it went, in silence fed; Till the infant monster, with devouring strong, Walk'd boldly upright with exalted head.

219 Now like some rich or mighty murderer, Too great for prison, which he breaks with gold; Who fresher for new mischiefs does appear, And dares the world to tax him with the old:

220 So 'scapes the insulting fire his narrow jail, And makes small outlets into open air: There the fierce winds his tender force a.s.sail, And beat him downward to his first repair.

221 The winds, like crafty courtesans, withheld His flames from burning, but to blow them more: And every fresh attempt he is repell'd With faint denials weaker than before.

222 And now no longer letted[49] of his prey, He leaps up at it with enraged desire: O'erlooks the neighbours with a wide survey, And nods at every house his threatening fire.

223 The ghosts of traitors from the bridge descend, With bold fanatic spectres to rejoice: About the fire into a dance they bend, And sing their sabbath notes with feeble voice.

224 Our guardian angel saw them where they sate Above the palace of our slumbering king: He sigh'd, abandoning his charge to fate, And, drooping, oft look'd back upon the wing.

225 At length the crackling noise and dreadful blaze Call'd up some waking lover to the sight; And long it was ere he the rest could raise, Whose heavy eyelids yet were full of night.

226 The next to danger, hot pursued by fate, Half-clothed, half-naked, hastily retire: And frighted mothers strike their b.r.e.a.s.t.s too late, For helpless infants left amidst the fire.

227 Their cries soon waken all the dwellers near; Now murmuring noises rise in every street: The more remote run stumbling with their fear, And in the dark men jostle as they meet.

228 So weary bees in little cells repose; But if night-robbers lift the well-stored hive, An humming through their waxen city grows, And out upon each other's wings they drive.

229 Now streets grow throng'd and busy as by day: Some run for buckets to the hallow'd quire: Some cut the pipes, and some the engines play; And some more bold mount ladders to the fire.

230 In vain: for from the east a Belgian wind His hostile breath through the dry rafters sent; The flames impell'd soon left their foes behind, And forward with a wanton fury went.

231 A quay of fire ran all along the sh.o.r.e, And lighten'd all the river with a blaze: The waken'd tides began again to roar, And wondering fish in shining waters gaze.

232 Old father Thames raised up his reverend head, But fear'd the fate of Simois would return: Deep in his ooze he sought his sedgy bed, And shrunk his waters back into his urn.

233 The fire, meantime, walks in a broader gross; To either hand his wings he opens wide: He wades the streets, and straight he reaches cross, And plays his longing flames on the other side.

234 At first they warm, then scorch, and then they take; Now with long necks from side to side they feed: At length, grown strong, their mother-fire forsake, And a new colony of flames succeed.

235 To every n.o.bler portion of the town The curling billows roll their restless tide: In parties now they straggle up and down, As armies, unopposed, for prey divide.

236 One mighty squadron with a side-wind sped, Through narrow lanes his c.u.mber'd fire does haste, By powerful charms of gold and silver led, The Lombard bankers and the 'Change to waste.

237 Another backward to the Tower would go, And slowly eats his way against the wind: But the main body of the marching foe Against the imperial palace is design'd.

238 Now day appears, and with the day the King, Whose early care had robb'd him of his rest: Far off the cracks of falling houses ring, And shrieks of subjects pierce his tender breast.

239 Near as he draws, thick harbingers of smoke With gloomy pillars cover all the place; Whose little intervals of night are broke By sparks, that drive against his sacred face.

240 More than his guards, his sorrows made him known, And pious tears, which down his cheeks did shower; The wretched in his grief forgot their own; So much the pity of a king has power.

241 He wept the flames of what he loved so well, And what so well had merited his love: For never prince in grace did more excel, Or royal city more in duty strove.

242 Nor with an idle care did he behold: Subjects may grieve, but monarchs must redress; He cheers the fearful, and commends the bold, And makes despairers hope for good success.