CCXXXIX.

Near as he draws, thick harbingers of smoke
With gloomy pillars cover all the place;
Whofe little intervals of night are broke

By sparks, that drive against his facred face.
CCXL.

More than his guards his forrows made him known,

And pious tears which down his cheeks did shower:
The wretched in his grief forgot their own;
So much the pity of a king has power.
CCXLI.

He wept the flames of what he lov'd so well,
And what fo well had merited his love:
For never prince in grace did more excel,
Or royal city more in duty ftrove.

CCXLII.

Nor with an idle care did he behold:

Subjects may grieve, but monarchs must redress;
He chears the fearful, and commends the bold,
And makes despairers hope for good success.
CCXLIII.

Himfelf directs what firft is to be done,
And orders all the fuccours which they bring :
The helpful and the good about him run,
And form an army worthy fuch a king.
CCXLIV.

He fees the dire contagion fpread so fast,
That where it feizes all relief is vain :
And therefore muft unwillingly lay wafte

That country, which would elfe the foe maintain.

CCXLV.

The powder blows up all before the fire:
Th' amazed flames ftand gather'd on a heap;
And from the precipice's brink retire,
Afraid to venture on fo large a leap.
CCXLVI.

Thus fighting fires a while themselves confume,
But ftraight like Turks forc'd on to win or die,
They first lay tender bridges of their fume,
And o'er the breach in unctuous vapours fly.
CCXLVII.

Part ftay for paffage, till a gust of wind

:

Ships o'er their forces in a fhining fheet: Part creeping under ground their journey blind, And climbing from below their fellows meet. CCXLVIII.

Thus to fome defert plain, or old wood-fide,

Dire night-hags come from far to dance their round And o'er broad rivers on their fiends they ride, Or fweep in clouds above the blasted ground. CCXLIX.

No help avails: for, hydra-like, the fire

Lifts up his hundred heads to aim his way: And fearce the wealthy can one half retire, Before he rushes in to fhare the prey.

CCL.

The rich grow fuppliant, and the poor grow proud: Thofe offer mighty gain, and these ask more:

So void of pity is th' ignoble crowd,

When others ruin may increafe their store.

CCLI.

As those who live by fhores with joy behold
Some wealthy vessel split or stranded nigh;
And from the rocks leap down for fhipwreck'd gold,
And seek the tempefts which the others fly:
CCLII.

So these but wait the owners laft despair,
And what's permitted to the flames invade ;
Ev'n from their jaws they hungry morfels tear,
And on their backs the spoils of Vulcan lade.
CCLIII.

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 fo fhone still in his reflective light.
CCLIV.

Night came, but without darkness or repose,
A dismal picture of the general doom;
Where fouls diftracted when the trumpet blows,
And half unready with their bodies come.
CCLV.

Those who have homes, when home they do repair,
To a last lodging call their wandering friends :
Their fhort uneafy fleeps are broke with care,

To look how near their own deftruction tends.
CCLVI.

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.

CCLVII.

Some ftir 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 shun.
CCLVIII.

The moft in fields like herded beafts lie down,
To dews obnoxious on the graffy floor;

And while their babes in sleep their forrows drown,
Sad parents watch the remnants of their ftore.
CCLIX.

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 prefs,
And meets, instead of milk, a falling tear.
CCLX.

No thought can eafe them but their fovereign's care,
Whose praise th' afflicted as their comfort fing:
Ev'n thofe, whom want might drive to just despair,
Think life a bleffing under fuch a king.

CCLXI.

Mean-time he fadly fuffers in their grief,
Out-weeps an hermit, and out-prays a saint :
All the long night he ftudies their relief,

How they may be fupply'd, and he may want.
CCLXII.

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

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

CCLXIII. Be

CCLXIII.

Be thou my judge, with what unweary'd care
I fince have labour'd for my people's good;
To bind the bruifes of a civil war,

And stop the issues of their wafting blood.
CCLXIV.

Thou who hast taught me to forgive the ill,
And recompenfe as friends the good misled;
If mercy be a precept of thy will,

Return that mercy on thy fervant's head.
CCLXV.

Or if my heedlefs youth has step'd aftray,
Too foon forgetful of thy gracious hand;
On me alone thy juft difpleasure lay,

But take thy judgments from this mourning land.
CCLXVI.

We all have finn'd, and thou haft laid us low,
As humble earth from whence at firft we came :
Like flying fhades before the clouds we show,
And fhrink like parchment in confuming flame.
CCLXVII.

O let it be enough what` thou hast done;

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

CCLXVIII.

The living few, and frequent funerals then,
Proclaim'd thy wrath on this forfaken place :
And now those few who are return'd again,
Thy fearching judgments to their dwellings trace.

CCLXIX. O