Northampton in Flames: OR, A POEM on the Dreadful FIRE
That Happened there on
Monday
the 20th.
Septemb. 1675.
COnfused Cryes fill all the Peoples Ears,
And disagreeing Bells bespeak their Fears;
Faint glimmering lights on every wall appear,
And
Fire is all they now can see or hear.
Some from their
Shops, more from their
Tables haste,
To meet the
Flames, that came themselves too fast:
A joynt-concern engaged all the Town,
'Tis
Fire alone makes every house our own.
Where-ere they go, they new Surprises meet,
And
Grief alone's the same in every Street.
To loud complaints th'amazed people fall,
And
Ruin'd! Ruin'd! Still did close them all.
A thousand hands Strait fight th'inraged soe,
Who thus oppos'd do's but the fiercer grow;
As when strong Winds th'approaching Seas invade
A mighty Billow of a Wave is made;
So all the force they us'd to
stop the
Fire,
Did not Repell, but onely raise it Higher.
Some from the Walls the heated Rafters tore,
With the same Hands that set them Up before;
And at the Conquerours feet their houses lay,
The haughty
Flames scorn the ignoble prey:
And Lyon-like the prostrate Spoils, they mist,
To conquer faster those that did resist:
The
infant-Flames each minute stronger grew,
Whil'st on the wings of a strong Wind they Flew;
Nere did
Bistonian Courser swiftlier bear,
Pamper'd in Peace the mighty God of War,
Whil'st over the
Strymonian banks he scuds,
And his Strong wind drives on the loytering Floods.
But
Zephyr could not long sustain the freight,
But breathless lies under th'unequal weight;
The
Flames no more now need the nourishing wind,
But seem to leave those slower Blasts behind:
And thus to their full strength and vigour-grown,
Singly defy all the Remaining Town.
The full-fletcht
Flames as swift as
Joves fires Fly,
Which in an instant lighten all the Sky:
Houses of Entertainment and of Trade,
Are all together in one
Ruine laid;
Shops, Stables, Barnes, all Buildings fall so fast,
You could not say, which was devoured last:
Not
Polyphemus favour's shewn.
The
[...]an-Inn.
Silver-swan more sweetly sung of late,Too sad presage of her approaching fate;
In deepest streams she wish't to hide her head,
And curs't the time She left her Watry bed:
For now amidst the thickest
Flames she fries,
And there for want of her own
Element dies.
The
[...]yon-Inn.
Lyon next, when nothing else could fright,Prepares himself for the unequal fight;
Unknowing how to yield, he scorns the
Fires,
And in a generous Sullen rage expires.
The
Hind-Inn.
Hind, she heard, and knew her danger near,Which came so fast, she had no time to fear.
The
[...]albot Inn.
Dog was nere afraid of her till now,Nor all so weak an Enemy could do,
But now he finds her breath is hotter far,
Then all th'inveterate o'th' fiery Star.
And here, my Muse, the spacious
[...]arket
[...]
Hill survay,Where scarcely now th' Affrighted People stay.
Some on their backs their aged
Parents bear,
And shew their piety's greater than their fear:
In the same hast
AEnas snatch't his Sire
And scarcely sav'd him from th' pursuing fire.
With wearied Steps a fearfull
Mother strays,
She trembles as she goes, looks backs, and Stays;
Within her armes her youngest pledge she bore,
And fear'd much for
her self, for
that much more:
The
Child looks on her with his watry Eyes,
And all those frights he could not speak he Cryes,
My Child (say'd she
) my only child I fear,
For none of all thy brethren else appear;
Thy Father too — But here she Silent grew,
And durst not speak, but fear'd the Worst was true.
They Stayd, and saw, the tottering
Chimn
[...] fall,
And heard the Rents of each divided
Wall:
The great Beames burst and throw the sparks on high,
And
Fire rains down from the discoloured Sky;
It fell so thick, not faster Hailestones pour,
Which fall with violent force from an impetious Shower:
These
Cinders how they scap'd, you could not tell,
Unless their tears did quench them, as they fell.
The Richest Goods now
Flame o're all the Hill,
With
Aromaticks which dried Channels fill:
Th'
Arabian
Phenix
Inn
Bird the scattered Spices takes,And of them all a Funeral Pile she makes;
May she rise new from this her
Flaming Nest,
And th' happy Emblem prove of all the rest.
What ails my
Muse to look so pale,
All on a suddain how her spirits faile;
With an uncertain step she now does go,
And loose
Pindariques only flow.
See! see the
Sacred
All Saints
Church
Fires rise,See how they mount and shew
Brighter far than those below.
See how they mount an unmixt Sacrifice!
The Heavens asunder fall,
They open, and receive it all.
The
Saints from whom it took its Name,
Run and catch the Hallowed Flame,
Which in safe Treasuries they lay,
For they in Heaven's Records did find a day;
When it again should fill another
Quire,
And not consuming prove, but Purifying Fire.
My
Muse she fainted, and intranc'd she lay,
Around her Head the sporting Visions play:
When loe a Book a mighty Book she saw,
It was the Volume of unerring Fate,
The leaves of hardest
Minerals were made;
So hard, that God alone the Lines could draw,
None else could write, and none obliterate:
The Book lay open, and all times appear,
And things not done, as plain as if they were;
In dreadful
Characters which fears create,
And letters of a vast and fearful Size;
She reads
Northamptons too unhappy State,
And all the Terrours of that
Flaming Sacrifice:
She reads the Legends of the dismal place,
Of Fires, and their violent Rage,
When suddain smiles adorn'd her alter'd face,
To find such happy
Annalls for another Age.
She reads, but as she read, excess of Joy,
Her wandring Spirits did recall;
Her hopes and fears by turns themselves destroy,
She hopes all True, yet fears the Truth of all.
And is it True said she,
The Fates so soon shall raise that happy day,
When all these Sister-Streets allied shall be,
In stately order
Ʋniformly gay.
And shall the Sacred Roof so glorious grow,
And there those polisht Columns stand,
In which each golden
Cherub sees his face,
Doubly adorning all the Sacred place;
And shall all this Treasure flow
From Gracious
Canterburie's Pious hand!
Ingrateful
Muse said I, dost thou despair?
Thou least of all should'st doubt his Pious care:
Did he not make that little that thou art?
Yet that far more than thy desert:
Did he not take thee from an homely Cell,
To place thee where the
Muses dwell?
First Taught thee
how, then gave thee
where to Live,
'Tis not
His fault but
Thine, thy Lawrells do not Thrive,
The careful
Earl of
Northampton:
Genius of the place arose,Great in his Courage, great in Grief he shews;
His mighty Courage dar'd the Rebel-fire,
Though Grief did make him sigh, and blow it higher.
Th' unbounded Flames contract a seeming awe,
And their unlimited Rage submits to Law;
For generous heat did his Warm breast inspire,
And his hot Zeal burnt out that colder fire.
Obedient flames now creep along the street,
An easy Conquest unto all they meet;
[...]o
Cellars their last refuge now they fly,
And there neglected of themselves they dy.
But though the
Town be Dust, its living Fame
[...]hall never Dy in Loyal
Comptons Name.
London, Printed for William Cade [...]an, at the New-Exchange in the Strande, 1675.