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