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Is those who live by shores with joy behold

Some wealthy vessel split or stranded nigh ;
And from the rocks leap down for shipwreck'd gold,
And seek the tempests which the others fly:

So these but wait the owners last despair,

And what's permitted to the flames invade ;
Ev'n from their jaws they hungry morsels tear,
And on their backs the spoils of Vulcan lade.

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 so thone still in his reflective light.

Night came, but without darkness or repose,

A dismal picture of the general doom ;
Where fouls distracted when the trumpet blows,
And half unready with their bodies come.

Those who have homes, when home they do repair,

To a last lodging call their wandering friends :
Their Mort uneasy sleeps are broke with care,
To look how near their own destruction tends.

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.



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 fhun.

The most in fields like herded beasts lie down,

To dews obnoxious on the grassy floor ;
And while their babes in sleep their forrows drown,
Sad parents watch the remnants of their store.

While by the motion of the flames they guess

What streets are burning now, and what are near, An infant waking to the paps

would press, And meets, instead of milk, a falling tear.

CCLX. No thought can ease them but their sovereign's care,

Whose praise th' afflicted as their comfort fing: Ey’n those, whom want might drive to just despair, Think life a blessing under such a king.

Mean-time he sadly suffers in their grief,

Out-weeps an hermit, and out-prays a faint :
All the long night he studies their relief,
How they may be supply'd, and he may want.

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

Guide of my youth in exile and distress !
Who me unfriended brought'st by wondrous ways,
The kingdom of my fathers to posiels :


Be thou my judge, with what unweary'd care

I since have labour'd for my people's good;
To bind the bruises of a civil war,
And stop the issues of their wasting blood.

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 seryant's head.

Or if my heedless youth has step'd astray,

Too foon forgetful of thy gracious hand;
On me alone thy just displeasure lay,
But take thy judgiments from this mourning land.

We all have finn’d, and thou hast laid us low,

As humble earth froin whence at first we came :
Like flying shades before the clouds we show,
And shrink like parchment in consuming flame.

O let it be enough what thou hast done ;

When spotted deaths ran arm’d through every street, With poison d darts which not the good could fhun, The speedy could out-fly, or valiant meet.

The living few, and frequent funerals then,

Proclaim'd thy wrath on this forsaken place :
And now those few who are return'd again,
Thy searching judgments to their dwellings trace.


O pass not, Lord; an absolute decree,

Or bind thy sentence unconditional :
But in thy sentence our remorse foresce,
And in that foresight this thy doom recal.

Thy threatenings, Lord, as thine thou may'st revoke :

But if immutable and fix'd they stand,
Continue still thyself to give the stroke,
And let not foreign foes oppress thy land.

Th’Eternal heard, and from the heavenly quire

Chose out the cherub with the flaming sword;
And bad him swiftly drive th' approaching fire
From where our naval magazines were stor’d.

The blefed minister his wings display'd,

And like a shooting star he cleft the night :
He charg’d the flames, and those that disobey'd
He lash'd to duty with his sword of light.

The fugitive flames chastis’d went forth to prey

On pious structures, by our fathers rear'd;
By which to heaven they dil affect the way,
Ere faith in churchinen without works was heard.

The wanting orphans faw with watery eyes,

Their founders chority in duit laid low;
And feit to God their cror-anfier'd cries,
For lie protecis the poor, who made them fo.


Nor could thy fabric, Paul's, defend thee long,

Though thou wert facred to thy Maker's praise :
Thcugh made immortal by a poet's long;
And poets fongs the Theban walls could raise.

The daring frames peep'd in, and saw from far

The awful beauties of the sacre: quire :
But, since it was prophan'd hy civil war,
Heaven thought it fit to have it purg'd by fire.

Now down the narrow streets it swiftly came,

And widely opening did on both sides prey :
This benefit we fadly owe the flame,
If only ruin must enlarge our way.

And now four days the sun had seen our woes :

Four nights the moon beheld th’inccfiant fire :
It seem'd as if the fars more fickly rose,
And farther from the feverish north retire.

In th' empyrean heaven, the bless’d abode,

The thrones and the dominions proftrate lie,
Not daring to behold their angry God;
And an huh'd filence damps the tuneful sky.

At lengih th' Almighty cait a pitying eye,

And mercy softly touch'd his melting breast :
He saw the town's one half in rubbish lie,
And eager flames drive on to form the rest.


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