The LONDONERS Lamentation.
Wherein is contained a sorrowfull Description of the dreadful Fire which happened in Pudding-Lane, next, beyond Fish-street-hill on the second of Septemb. 1666. betwixt twelve and one of the clock in the morning, being Sunday, and continued untill the Thursday night following: VVith an account of the King and the Duke of York's indeavours with several Peers of the Land, for the quenching of the same; Also the manner of doing it, and the name of every particular place where the fire did stop.
Tune is, VVhen Troy town, &c.
LEt water flow from every eye,
Of all good Subjects in the Land,
Mountains of fire were raised high,
Which
Londons City did command;
Waste lye those buildings were so good,
And Ashes lye where London stood.
Old
London that a thousand years,
the téeth of time could never waste,
Now to our misery appears,
in five daies space tis burnt at last;
Waste lye those Fabricks were so good,
And Cinders lye where London stood.
The second of
September, at
the dismal hours 'twixt twelve and one;
At mid-night, up the fire gat,
in
Pudding-Lane and brightly shone;
Our Engines all could do no good,
Till Ashes lay where London stood.
It over-flow;d New
Fish-street-hill,
and then gave fire to
Canon-street,
Then through the Lanes, about did whéel,
until it with the
Thames did méet,
As if it would have dry'd the Flood,
And left dust where the River stood.
A Strong assisting
Eastern-winde,
with liberal Lungs did fan the Flame,
The Fire so in the water shin'd,
you would have thought 'thad been the same,
The Flames which swallow all they meet,
Makes nothing to destroy a Street.
Great Congregations made of sparks,
fill all the Churches in the Town,
That fly up like a Flock of Larks,
the Bells and Leads are melted down;
'Cause we from sin will not return,
Pulpits themselves in Ashes mourn.
Pitch, Tar, Oyle, Flax and ancient Wood
did make the raging Fire so rant,
It would not quench, unlesse we cou'd
at once have thrown the
Thames upon't;
The fire had burnt up without fear,
Had Humber, Trent, and Tweed been there.
The Citizens can nothing do,
but lug their treasure out of town,
Thirty pound Carts are hired now,
each private man looks to his own
But every passenger they greet,
With Sugar and Wine in every street.
Vp to the old
Exchange the fire,
with bold ambitious wings did fly,
And to the top on't did aspire,
until it all did levil lye;
But Gresham (he that built it) stands,
In spight of Vulcan's hot commands.
The lofty front of pearless
Powls,
is now besieged with the Flame,
In which his wooden intrails rowls,
but bravely doth with-stand the same,
And massy stones like shot lets fly,
Out of its own Artillery.
Women lying in, and Cripples crawl
out of their beds, into the Field,
Least fire should consume them all,
'gainst which they had no other shield;
In every place the fields were strew'd
Which like to a great Leaguer shew'd.
Our gracious King, the Duke of
York,
the Life-guards and their noble Lords,
Both day and night, did watch and work,
to pull down houses, walls, and boards
That fire might no further go,
And so consume the Suburbs too.
God gave a blessing to their hands,
for by this means the flames grew lower,
It did at once obey Commands,
both at the
Temple, and the
Tower,
At Pie-corner, and Aldersgate,
The fire lost his Flaming state.
At
Holborn-bridge and
Cripple-gate,
and in the midst of
Coleman-street,
And
Basing-hall it was laid flat,
it did such opposition méet,
Bishops-gate-street and Leaden-hall,
To Cornhil-Standard are saved all.
Iust at
Fan-Church in
Fan-Church-street,
Cloath-workers hall in
Mincing-Lane,
The fire could no further get,
and in
Mark-Lane was quench'd again;
And now with heavy losses, we
Are rid of this hot misery.
Of
French and
Dutch many were took
(upon suspition of a Plot,
That they this ruine should provoke
with fire-works) which will all be brought
Unto their tryal, but I fear,
Our sinful hearts more guilty are.
Three of Gods sharpest Arrows are
and have béen at us lately shot,
Civil War, Pestilence and Fire,
for Pride and Gain, there lies the Plot,
Beware the fourth, for if it fall,
Grim Famine will confound us all.
I know each Citizen hath drank
a scalding draught of this hot Cup,
But let him not (to mend his bank)
use gréedy Gains to get it up,
Let them consider what they do,
Their Customers are Sufferers too.
Then let us with hearts undefil'd,
thank God his Mercies are so great,
As that the Fire hath not spoyl'd
the Suburbs and the Royal Seat:
If we still hate each other thus,
God never will be friends with us.
Fini
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London, Printed for J. Clark, at the Bible and Harp, in West-Smithfield, With Allowance▪