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One mighty squadron with a side-wind sped, 'The rich grow suppliant, and the poor grow proud.

Through narrow lanes his cumber'd fire does haste, Those offer mighty gain, and these ask more. By powerful charms of gold and silver led, So void of pity is th' ignoble crowd,

The Lombard bankers and the 'Change to waste. When others' ruin may increase their store.

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Now day appears, and with the day the king, So these but wait the owners' last despair,

Whose early care had robb'd him of his rest : And what's permitted to the flames invade; Far off the cracks of falling houses ring,

Ev'n from their jaws they hungry morsels tear, And shrieks of subjects pierce his tender breast. And on their backs the spoils of Vulcan lade.

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.

The days were all in this lost labor spent;

And when the weary king gave place to night,
His beams he to his royal brother lent,

And so shone still in his reflective light.

More than his guards his sorrows made him known, Night came, but without darkness or repose,

And pious tears which down his cheeks did shower: A dismal picture of the general doom;
The wretched in his grief forgot their own; Where souls distracted when the trumpet blows,
So much the pity of a king has power.

And half unready with their bodies come.


He wept the flames of what he lov'd 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.

Those who have homes, when home they do repair,

To a last lodging call their wandering friends :
Their short uneasy sleeps are broke with care,

To look how near their own destruction tends.

Nor with an idle care did he behold:

Those who have none, sit round where once it was, Subjects may grieve, but monarchs must redress; And with full eyes each wonted room require : He cheers the fearful, and commends the bold, Haunting the yet warm ashes of the place,

And makes despairers hope for good success. As murder'd men walk where they did expire.

Himself directs what first is to be done,

And orders all the suceors which they bring : The helpful and the good about him run,

And form an army worthy such a king.

Some stir up coals and watch the vestal fire,

Others in vain from sight of ruin run;
And while through burning labyrinths they retire,

With lothing eyes repeat what they would shun

He sees the dire contagion spread so fast,

The most in fields like herded beasts lie down, That where it seizes all relief is vain :

To dews obnoxious on the grassy floor; And therefore must unwillingly lay waste

And while their babes in sleep their sorrows drown, That country, which would else the foe maintain. Sad parents watch the remnants of their store.

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Thus to some desert plain, or old wood side, “() God," said he, “thou patron of my days,

Dire night-hags come from far to dance their round; Guide of my youth in exile and distress!
And o'er broad rivers on their fiends they ride, Who me unfriended brought’st, by wondrous ways,

Or sweep in clouds above the blasted ground. The kingdom of my fathers to possess :
No help avails : for, hydra-like, the Fire “ Be thou my judge, with what unwearied care

Lifts up his hundred heads to aim his way: I since have labor'd for my people's good ;
And scarce the wealthy can one-half retire, To bind the bruises of a civil war,
Before he rushes in to share the prey.

And stop the issues of their wasting blood.

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• Thou who hast taught me to forgive the ill,

And recompense as friends the good misled ; If mercy be a precept of thy will,

Return that mercy on thy servant's head.

And now four days the Sun had seen our woes :

Four nights the Moon beheld th' incessant fire. It seem'd as if the stars more sickly rose,

And further from the feverish North retire.

“Or if my heedless youth has stepp'd astray, In th’empyrean Heaven, the bless'd abode, Too soon forgetful of thy gracious hand;

The thrones and the dominions prostrate lie, On me alone thy just displeasure lay,

Not daring to behold their angry God; But take thy judgments from this mourning land. And an hush'd silence damps the tuneful sky.

“ We all have sinn'd, and thou hast laid us low, At length th’ Almighty cast a pitying eye,

As humble earth from whence at first we came : And mercy softly touch'd his melting breast : Like flying shades before the clouds we show, He saw the town's one-half in rubbish lie,

And shrink like parchment in consuming flame. And eager flames drive on to storm the rest.

"O let it be enough what thou hast done; (street, An hollow crystal pyramid he takes,

When spotted Deaths ran arm'd through every In firmamental waters dipt above : With poison'd darts which not the good could shun, Of it a broad extinguisher he makes, The speedy could outfly, or valiant meet.

And hoods the flames that to their quarry drove. “ The living few, and frequent funerals then, The vanquish'd Fires withdraw from every place,

Proclaim'd thy wrath on this forsaken place; Or full with feeding sink into a sleep: And now those few who are return'd again, Each household genius shows again his face,

Thy searching judgments to their dwellings trace. And from the hearths the little Lares creep.

“O pass not, Lord, an absolute decree,

Or bind thy sentence unconditional : But in thy sentence our remorse foresee,

And in that foresight this thy doom recall.

Our king this more than natural change beholds;

With sober joy his heart and eyes abound : To the All-good his lifted hands he folds,

And thanks him low on his redeemed ground.

• Thy threatenings, Lord, as thine thou may'st re- As when sharp frosts had long constraind the earth, voke :

A kindly thaw unlocks it with cold rain; But if immutable and fix'd they stand,

And first the tender blade peeps up to birth, (grain: Continue still thyself to give the stroke,

And straight the green fields laugh with promis'd And let not foreign foes oppress thy land."

By such degrees the spreading gladness grew Th' Eternal heard, and from the heavenly quire In every heart which fear had froze before :

Chose out the cherub with the flaming sword ; The standing streets with so much joy they view, And bade him swiftly drive th' approaching Fire That with less grief the perish'd they deplore. From where our naval magazines were stor'd.

The father of the people open'd wide The blessed minister his wings display'd,

His stores, and all the poor with plenty fed : And like a shooting star he cleft the night:. Thus God's anointed God's own place supplied, He charg'd the flames, and those that disobey'd And fill'd the empty with his daily bread. He lash'd to duty with his sword of light.

This royal bounty brought its own reward, The fugitive Flames, chastis'd, went forth to prey And in their minds so deep did print the sense,

On pious structures, by our fathers rear'd; That if their ruins sadly they regard, By which to Heaven they did affect the way, 'Tis but with fear the sight might drive him thence. Ere faith in churchmen without works was heard.

But so may he live long, that town to sway, The wanting orphans saw, with watery eyes, Which by his auspice they will nobler make, Their founders' charity in dust laid low;

As he will hatch their ashes by his stay,
And sent to God their ever-answer'd cries,

And not their humble ruins now forsake.
For he protects the poor, who made them so.
Nor could thy fabric, Paul's, defend thee long,

They have not lost their loyalty by fire; 'Though thou wert sacred to thy Maker's praise : That from his wars they poorly would retire,

Nor is their courage or their wealth so low, Though made immortal by a poet's song; And poets' songs the Theban walls could raise.

Or beg the pity of a vanquish'd foe. The daring flames peep'd in, and saw from far

Not with more constancy the Jews, of old The awful beauties of the sacred quire :

By Cyrus from rewarded exile sent, But, since it was profan'd by civil war,

Their royal city did in dust behold, Heav'n thought it fit to have it purg'd by fire.

Or with more vigor to rebuild it went. Now down the narrow streets it swiftly came, The utmost malice of the stars is past, [town,

And widely opening did on both sides prey : And two dire comets, which have scourg'd the This benefit we sadly owe the flame,

In their own plague and fire have breath'd the last, If only ruin must enlarge our way.

Or dimly in their sinking sockets frown.


Now frequent trines the happier lights among,

And high-raised Jove from his dark prison freed, Those weights took off that on his planet hung,

Will gloriously the new-laid work succeed.



Methinks already from this chymic flame,

'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won I see a city of more precious mould:

By Philip's warlike son: Rich as the town which gives the Indies name,

Aloft in awful state With silver pav'd, and all divine with gold.

The godlike hero sate

On his imperial throne:

His valiant peers were plac'd around; Already laboring with a mighty fate,

Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound: She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow,

(So should desert in arms be crown'd) And seems to have renew'd her charter's date, Which Heaven will to the death of Time allow. Sate, like a blooming eastern bride,

The lovely Thais, by his side,

In Aower of youth and beauty's pride.
More great than human now, and more august, Happy, happy, happy pair!
Now deified she from her fires does rise :

None but the brave,
Her widening streets on new foundations trust, None but the brave,
And opening into larger parts she flies.

None but the brave deserves the fair.

CHORUS. Before she like some shepherdess did show,

Happy, happy, happy pair! Who sat to bathe her by a river's side;

None but the brave, Not answering to her fame, but rude and low,

None but the brave, Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride.

None but the brave deserves the fair.

Timotheus, plac'd on high
Now like a maiden queen she will behold,

Amid the tuneful quire,
From her high turrets, hourly suitors come; With flying fingers touch'd the lyre :
The East with incense, and the West with gold,

The trembling notes ascend the sky,
Will stand like suppliants to receive her doom.

And heavenly joys inspire.

The song began from Jove, The silver Thames, her own domestic flood,

Who left his blissful seats above, Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train;

(Such is the power of mighty love.) And often wind, as of his mistress proud,

A dragon's fiery form belied the god, Withi longing eyes to meet her face again.

Sublime on radiant spires he rode,

When he to fair Olympia press’d,

And while he sought her snowy breast : The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine, Then, round her slender waist he curl'd, (world

The glory of their towns no more shall boast, And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the And Seyne, that would with Belgian rivers join,

The listening crowd admire the lofty sound,
Shall find her lustre stain'd, and traffic lost.

A present deity, they shout around :
A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound :

With ravish'd ears
The venturous merchant, who design'd more far,
And touches on our hospitable shore,

The monarch hears,
Charm'd with the splendor of this northern star,

Assumes the god,
Shall here unlade him, and depart no more.

Affects to nod,
And seems to shake the spheres.

Our powerful navy shall no longer meet,

With ravish'd ears The wealth of France or Holland to invade;

The monarch hears, The beauty of this town without a fleet,

Assumes the god, From all the world shall vindicate her trade.

Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.
And while this fam'd emporium we prepare,
The British ocean shall such triumphs boast,

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung: That those, who now disdain our trade to share,

Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young :
Shall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast.

The jolly god in triumph comes ;
Sound the trumpets; beat the drums;

Flush'd with a purple grace,
Already we have conquer'd half the war,

He shows his honest face ; And the less dangerous part is left behind :

Now give the hautboys breath: he comes, he comes Our trouble now is but to make them dare,

Bacchus, ever fair and young, And not so great to vanquish as to find.

Drinking joys did first ordain;

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Thus to the eastern wealth through storms we go, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure. But now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more ;

Rich the treasure, A constant trade-wind will securely blow,

Sweet the pleasure ; And gently lay us on the spicy shore.

Sweet is pleasure after pain.



At length, with love and wine at once oppressid, Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,

The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure;

Now strike the golden lyre again :
Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure ;

A louder yet, and yet a louder strain.

Break his bands of sleep asunder, Sweet is pleasure after pain.

And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain ;

Hark, hark, the horrid sound Fought all his battles o'er again ;

[the slain.

Has rais'd up his head! And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew

As awak'd from the dead, The master saw the madness rise ;

And, amaz’d, he stares around. His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ;

Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,

See the Furies arise :
And, while he Heaven and Earth defied,

See the snakes that they rear,
Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride.
He chose a mournful Muse,

How they hiss in their hair,
Soft pity to infuse :

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes !
He sung Darius great and good,

Behold a ghastly band,

Each a torch in his hand !
By too severe a fate,
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,

Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,

And unburied remain
Fallen from his high estate,
And weltering in his blood ;

Inglorious on the plain :
Deserted, at his utmost need,

Give the vengeance due

To the valiant crew.
By those his former bounty fed :
On the bare earth expos'd he lies,

Behold how they toss their torches on high,
With not a friend to close his eyes.

How they point to the Persian abodes,
With downcast looks the joyless victor sate,

And glittering temples of their hostile gods.
Revolving in his alter'd soul

The princes applaud, with a furious joy ;
The various turns of Chance below;

And the king seiz'd a flambeau with zeal to destroy ,

Thais led the way,
And, now and then, a sigh he stole ;
And tears began to flow.

To light him to his prey,
And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy



Revolving in his alter'd soul

The various turns of Chance below;
And, now and then, a sigh he stole;

And tears began to flow.

And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy;

Thais led the way,

To light him to his prey,
And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy.

The mighty master smil'd, to see
That love was in the next degree :
"Twas but a kindred sound to move,
For pity melts the mind to love.

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,

Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures-
War, he sung, is toil and trouble ;
Honor but an empty bubble;

Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying ;

If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O think, it worth enjoying :

Lovely Thais sits beside thee,

Take the good the gods provide thee.
The many rend the skies with loud applause ;
So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause.
The prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gaz'd on the fair

Who caus'd his care,
And sigh'd and look’d, sigh'd and look'd,

Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again:
At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd,
The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.

Thus, long ago,
Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,

While organs yet were mute;
Timotheus, to his breathing flute,

And sounding lyre,
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.

At last divine Cecilia came,

Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,

Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,

And added length to solemn sounds,
With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown;
He rais'd a mortal to the skies ;

She drew an angel down.


At last divine Cecilia came,

Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,

Enlarg’d the former narrow bounds,

And added length to solemn sounds,
With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown;
He rais'd a mortal to the skies ;
She drew an angel down.


The prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gaz'd on the fair

Who caus'd his care,
And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look’d,
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again :

Let fall some drops of pity on our grief,
PALAMON AND ARCITE: If what we beg be just, and we deserve relief:

For none of us, who now thy grace implore,

But held the rank of sovereign queen before ;

Till, thanks to giddy Chance, which never bears Воок І

That mortal bliss should last for length of years,

She cast us headlong from our high estate,
In days of old, there liv’d, of mighty same, And here in hope of thy return we wait:
A valiant prince, and Theseus was his name: And long have waited in the temple nigh,
A chief, who more in feats of arms excell'd, Built to the gracious goddess Clemency.
The rising nor the setting Sun beheld.

But reverence thou the power whose name it bears, Of Athens he was lord ; much land he won, Relieve th' oppress'd, and wipe the widow's tears. And added foreign countries to his crown.

I, wretched I, have other fortunes seen, In Scythia with the warrior queen he strove,

The wife of Capaneus, and once a queen: Whom first by force he conquered, then by love; At Thebes he fell, curst be the fatal day! He brought in triumph back the beauteous dame, And all the rest thou seest in this array With whom her sister, fair Emilia, came.

To make their moan, their lords in batile lost With honor to his home let Theseus ride,

Before that town, besieg'd by our confederate host: With Love to friend, and Fortune for his guide, But Creon, old and impious, who commands And his victorious army at his side.

The Theban city, and usurps the lands, I pass their warlike pomp, their proud array,

Denies the rites of funeral fires to those Their shouts, their songs, their welcome on the way. Whose breathless bodies yet he calls his foes. But, were it not too long, I would recite

Unburn'd, unburied, on a heap they lie; The feats of Arnazons, the fatal fight

Such is their fate, and such his tyranny ; Betwixt the hardy queen and hero knight; No friend has leave to bear away the dead, The town besieg'd, and how much blood it cost But with their lifeless limbs his hounds are fed." The female army and th’Athenian host ;,

At this she shriek'd aloud; the mournful train The spousals of Hippolita, the queen;

Echo'd her grief, and, grovelling on the plain, What tilts and tourneys at the feast were seen; With groans, and hands upheld, to move his mind, The storm at their return, the ladies' fear: Besought his pity to their helpless kind ! But these, and other things, I must forbear.

The prince was touch'd, his tears began to flow, The field is spacious I design to sow,

And, as his tender heart would break in two, With oxen far unfit to draw the plow:

He sigh'd, and could not but their fate deplore, The remnant of my tale is of a length

So wretched now, so fortunate before.
To tire your patience, and to waste my strength; Then lightly from his losty steed he flew,
And trivial accidents shall be forborne,

And raising, one by one, the suppliant crew,
That others may have time to take their turn; To comfort each, full solemnly he swore,
As was at first enjoin'd us by mine host,

That by the faith which knights to knighthood bore,
That he whose tale is best, and pleases most, And whate'er else to chivalry belongs,
Should win his supper at our common cost. He would not cease, till he reveng'd their wrongs :

And therefore where I left, I will pursue That Greece should see perform'd what he declar'd; This ancient story, whether false or true,

And cruel Creon find his just reward. In hope it may be mended with a new.

He said no more, but, shunning all delay, The prince I mention’d, full of high renown, Rode on; nor enter'd Athens on his way: In this array drew near th' Athenian town; But left his sister and his queen behind, When, in his pomp and utmost of his pride, And wav'd his royal banner in the wind : Marching, he chanc'd to cast his eye aside, Where in an argent field the god of war And saw a choir of mourning dames, who lay Was drawn triumphant on his iron car; By two and two across the common way:

Red was his sword, and shield, and whole attire, At his approach they rais'd a rueful cry,

And all the godhead seem'd to glow with fire; And beat their breasts, and held their hands on high, Ev’n the ground glitter'd where the standard New Creeping and crying, till they seiz'd at last And the green grass was dyed to sanguine hue. His courser's bridle, and his feet embrac'd. High on his pointed lance his pennon bore “ Tell me,” said Theseus, “ what and whence His Cretan fight, the conquer'd Minotaur :

The soldiers shout around with generous rage. you are, And why this funeral pageant you prepare ?

And in that victory their own presage. Is this the welcome of my worthy deeds,

He prais'd their ardor; inly pleas'd 10 see To meet my triumph in ill-omen'd weeds ? His host the flower of Grecian chivalry. Or envy you my praise, and would destroy All day he march'd ; and all th' ensuing night; With grief my pleasures, and pollute my joy? And saw the city with returning light. Or are you injur'd, and demand relief?

The process of the war I need not tell, Name your request, and I will ease your grief.” How Theseus conquer'd, and how Creon fell :

The most in years of all the mourning train Or after, how by storm the walls were won, Began (but swooned first away for pain);

Or how the victor sack'd and burn'd the town: Then scarce recover'd spoke: “ Nor envy we How to the ladies he restor'd again 'Thy great renown, nor grudge thy victory; The bodies of their lords in battle slain : 'Tis thine, O king, th' afflicted to redress,

And with what ancient rites they were interr'd; And Fame has fill'd the world with thy success :

All these to fitter times shall be deferr'd : We, wretched women, sue for that alone,

I spare the widows' tears, their woful cries, Which of thy goodness is refus'd to none;

And howling at their husbands' obsequies ;

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