CCXXXIII.

The fire, mean-time, walks in a broader grofs;
To either hand his wings he opens wide:
He wades the streets, and straight he reaches cross,
And plays his longing flames on th' other fide.
CCXXXIV.

At first they warm, then fcorch, and then they take;
Now with long necks from fide to fide they feed:
At length grown ftrong their mother-fire forfake,
And a new colony of flames fucceed.

CCXXXV.

Το every nobler portion of the town

The curling billows roll their reftlefs tide:
In parties now they ftraggle up and down,
As armies unoppos'd for prey divide.
CCXXXVI.

One mighty fquadron with a fide-wind sped,
Through narrow lanes his cumber'd fire does hafte,

By powerful charms of gold and filver led,

The Lombard bankers and the Change to wafte.
CCXXXVII.

Another backward to the Tower would go,

And flowly eats his way against the wind:

But the main body of the marching foe
Against th' imperial palace is defign'd.
CCXXXVIII.

Now day appears, and with the day the king,
Whofe early care had robb'd him of his reft:
Far off the cracks of falling houses ring,

And fhrieks of fubjects pierce his tender breaft.

5

CCXXXIX. Near

CCXXXIX.

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 facred face.
CCXL.

More than his guards his forrows made him known, And pious tears which down his cheeks did fhower: The wretched in his grief forgot their own;

So much the pity of a king has power.

CCXLI.

He wept the flames of what he lov'd fo well,
And what fo well had merited his love:
For never prince in grace did more excel,
Or royal city more in duty ftrove.

CCXLII.

Nor with an idle care did he behold:

Subjects may grieve, but monarchs must redress;
He chears the fearful, and commends the bold,
And makes despairers hope for good fuccefs.
CCXLIII.

Himfelf directs what firft is to be done,
And orders all the fuccours which they bring :
The helpful and the good about him run,
And form an army worthy fuch a king.
CCXLIV.

He fees the dire contagion fpread fo faft,
That where it feizes all relief is vain :

And therefore must unwillingly lay waste

That country, which would elfe the foe maintain.

CCXLV.

The powder blows up all before the fire :
Th' amazed flames ftand gather'd on a heap;
And from the precipice's brink retire,
Afraid to venture on fo large a leap.
CCXLVI.

Thus fighting fires a while themselves confume,
But ftraight like Turks forc'd on to win or die,
They first lay tender bridges of their fume,
And o'er the breach in unctuous vapours fly.
CCXLVII.

Part ftay for paffage, till a guft of wind
Ships o'er their forces in a fhining sheet:
Part creeping under ground their journey blind,
And climbing from below their fellows meet.
CCXLVIII.

Thus to fome defert plain, or old wood-fide,

Dire night-hags come from far to dance their round; And o'er broad rivers on their fiends they ride, Or fweep in clouds above the blasted ground. CCXLIX.

No help avails: for, hydra-like, the fire

Lifts up his hundred heads to aim his way: And fearce the wealthy can one half retire, Before he rushes in to fhare the prey.

CCL.

The rich grow fuppliant, and the poor grow proud: Thofe offer mighty gain, and these ask more:

So void of pity is th' ignoble crowd,

When others ruin may increafe their store.

CCLI.

As those who live by fhores with joy behold
Some wealthy veffel fplit or ftranded nigh;
And from the rocks leap down for fhipwreck'd gold,
And feek the tempefts which the others fly:
CCLII.

So these but wait the owners last despair,
And what's permitted to the flames invade;
Ev'n from their jaws they hungry morfels tear,
And on their backs the fpoils of Vulcan lade.
CCLIII.

The days were all in this loft labour spent ;
And when the weary king gave place to night,
His beams he to his royal brother lent,

And fo fhone still in his reflective light.

CCLIV.

Night came, but without darkness or repofe,
A dismal picture of the general doom;
Where fouls diftracted when the trumpet blows,
And half unready with their bodies come.
CCLV.

Those who have homes, when home they do repair,
To a laft lodging call their wandering friends:
Their fhort uneafy fleeps are broke with care,
To look how near their own destruction tends.

CCLVI.

Those who have none, fit round where once it was,
And with full eyes each wonted room require:
Haunting the yet warm ashes of the place,

As murder'd men walk where they did expire.

CCLVII.

Some stir up coals and watch the vestal fire,
Others in vain from fight of ruin run;

And while through burning labyrinths they retire,

With loathing eyes repeat what they would shun.
CCLVIII.

The most in fields like herded beafts lie down,
To dews obnoxious on the graffy floor;

And while their babes in fleep their forrows drown,
Sad parents watch the remnants of their store.
CCLIX.

While by the motion of the flames they guefs
What streets are burning now, and what are near,
An infant waking to the paps would prefs,
And meets, instead of milk, a falling tear.
CCLX.

No thought can ease them but their fovereign's care,
Whose praise th' afflicted as their comfort fing:
Ev'n thofe, whom want might drive to juft defpair,
Think life a bleffing under fuch a king.

CCLXI.

Mean-time he fadly fuffers in their grief,
Out-weeps an hermit, and out-prays a faint:
All the long night he ftudies their relief,

How they may be supply'd, and he may want.
CCLXII.

O God, faid he, thou patron of my days,

Guide of my youth in exile and diftrefs!
Who me unfriended brought'ft by wondrous ways,
The kingdom of my fathers to possess :

CCLXIII. Be