THE FALL and FUNERAL OF NORTHAMPTON, IN AN ELEGY, Late Published in Latin, By the Reverend Dr. S. FORD.
Since, made English, With some Variation, and Enlarged.
By F. A. M. A. A sad Spectator of that Frightful SCENE.
Nec verbum verbo curabit reddere fidus
Interpres.—
LONDON: Printed for John Wright, and are to be Sold by William Cockrain, Book-seller in Northampton. 1677.
TO The Honourable and Right Worshipful THE KNIGHTS and GENTLEMEN COMMISSIONERS and TRUSTEES, Appointed by The late ACT of PARLIAMENT FOR RE-BUILDING THE TOWN OF NORTHAMPTON, This Iliad of our Miseries (as in a Nutshell) is presumed to be Dedicated, As to the more Immediate
- Raisers up of our Foundations,
- Repairers of our Breaches, and
- Restorers of Paths to dwell in,
upon Record.
And in behalf of all Concerned (as some poor Acknowledgement of our due Thankfulness) Humbly presented you, by one
(Most Honoured Sirs,)
The humblest of your Servants, F. A.
THE FALL and FUNERAL OF NORTHAMPTON.
NIne Zodiacks now, and more, the sloaping Sun
About the wheeling Heavens had run,
Since London's fatal Dooms-day, when, by Flame,
As Sodom and Gomorrha She became.
'Twas the same Month, in which Astraea bright,
With equal ballance, weighs out Day, and Night.
The second Dawn, to London, sprung her bane;
Northampton's twenty'th Noon, the same:
When a weak lambent Flame, at first began
The Wisp, was grasped in a span:
Spans over all, soon, from the farthest West
To North, and South, and utmost East.
Such was Elijah's hand-breadth Cloud, of yore,
Which spann'd the whole Horizon o're;
That, on a Sun-burnt Earth, refreshing, showrs;
This, flaming Fury on us pours.
Despise not then a Straw; the poorest thing
Can swift Destruction on thee bring;
Dust was a Plague to the proud Pharian King.
But to return; 'Tis fit the Story be
Transmitted to Posterity.
A Cottage poor there stood, at farthest West
To poor a Covert, and a Nest;
Thatch'd over head, and Thatch'd o'th floor,
With Straw and Litter, to the door;
[Page 2] A Barn, a Stable, or a Hog-stye, whether?
Barn, Stable, Hogs-stye, all-together.
A Wisp with Embers, from a Neighbour fetch'd,
Blazing in hand, the Litter catch'd.
The Wind impetuous, at West-Nor-West;
The Door stood to the Wind, full breast.
'Tis not the Dust, that doth Affliction bring;
Nor from the Ground doth Trouble spring!
Heaven's Bellows blew the Fire, the mounted Flame
To the House-top, confirms the same.
Not twenty Engineers, with all their Art,
So swift Confusion could impart!
Hope was, at first, resistance might be made,
A cheap, and easie conquest had:
And, to that end, came marching up, in Bands,
Troops of Auxiliary Hands.
But O!—The Foe too potent was, and strong,
To be controlled by a throng.
The Wind too, with Auxiliary blast
Augments his fury, and his haste!
As angry Heaven, with fell-raging fire,
Both seem'd against Us to conspire;
So, to r'encounter the Vulcanian Might,
Seem'd, against Heaven too, to fight.
The Foe in Triumph rides, upon the wings
Of Zephyrus, and Lightning flings;
That seizes all the neighbouring Thatch, and where
It lights, it quickly levels there:
Each flake of Straw enflam'd, enflames the Skyes,
Flame, gendring Flame, still centuplyes.
Insatiable Monster! nothing will
Thy rav'nous, hungry Maw, fulfill!
The more thou gorgest, still the more dost crave;
Thy Belly Hell; thy Throat a Grave!
Thy Potentiality so great, so fierce,
As to calcine the Universe!
[Page 3] Thatch'd Houses, to the Flames are now a Sport,
Of Pow'r to scale the strongest Fort!
The underlings, of Covert all made bare;
The loftier, next, assayled are.
Nor Arch, nor Buttress, nor Stone-wa ll can fence
The Structure from its insolence!
Here, tumbles down a Chimney; there, a Wall;
Then, the whole Fabrick, Roof and all.
The spattering Stones, in flakes, about the place,
And Slats, spit Wild-fire in the face.
Beams, Tracings, Rafters tumble in, and Floor;
Flames vomiting through every Door.
Each House of Stone a burning Oven, red,
With it's own Furniture is fed.
Who with devouring Fire can longer dwell?
There to abide, would be an Hell!
Confusion such: the Eye not onely, here
Is fill'd with Horrour, but the Ear!
Noise from one quarter, accented with Moans▪
Re-Echoes to anothers Groans;
An Howling from a second; from a third
Heart-piercing Cryes, and Shrieks are heard!
All Ears, the ratling Desolation fills,
As a great Crashing from the Hills!
The Foe the Field has won;—No Place for Fight
Is left us now;—nor yet for Flight.
By Ambuscade of Fire upon the Ground,
And Ruins, quite Beleaguer'd round.
Some weak Efforts, howe're; Before we'll yield;
He shall, by Inches, win the Field.
Help here:—a Ladder quickly:—yonders Hook:—
O:—quickly, quickly:—Sirs, for God-sake look:
The Fire has here but new now took.
Some Buckets there:—What are you Stocks, or Stone!—
Some Water, quickly,—or the House is gone!
What!—the Pumps burnt!—No Water any where!—
Go stave the Hogs-heads;—fetch up Pails of Beer!
[Page 4] Dash,—dash;—O quickly;—more;—more yet;—one here!—
(I charge you stand your Ground)—another there!
Five Pounds (good fellows) here, as a Reward,
To stand your Centry sure, and keep strict Guard.
One stout Commander, thus, has baffl'd more
Th' insulting Foe, than others, twenty score.
Another cryes:—Help here!—another, There!—
Another;—and another!—Where,—O where,
A fifth replyes;—Sure thou art blind: Another!—
He quickly choak'd, and blinded is with Smother.
One, Hoarse with Bawling; Deaf with t' others Noise,
Has lost his Hearing, with his Voice.
Distracted each, by dissonant Command,
Cannot the other understand.
Babel of old, as in a Scene, you see
Here present, by an Autopsie!
Confusion, Discrepancy, Tumult, Throng,
—A Kindness to the Foe; to Them a Wrong:
Each thwarting other, in the course they take,
The fury of the Flame to slake.
Retreat they must;—or Death, or sudden Flight!
'Tis daring, against Heaven to fight.
But ah!—the hideous Moans, Laments, and Cryes,
From every Ward that do arise!—
Hither and thither;—to and fro they run,
As Wights distracted;—clean undone!
Fear to their feet adds wings;—but whither then
To flee, they know not,—woful Men!
All Avenues block'd up;—from fire to fire,
And flame to flame, they must retire.
Whether they stand their ground; or whether flee;
Nor here, nor there, from danger free.
The Women, with Heart-piercing Groans, and Shrieks,
Beating their Breasts; beating their Cheeks!
Children, in their shrill Accents, to their Mother,
Shrieking in Consort, each with other!
And some are so astonish'd with the Blow,
Of this their huge down-bearing Woe,
[Page 5] Tongue-ty'd with Grief; to tell each others Wrong,
Their Eyes usurp the Office of the Tongue.
They cannot weep, alas! they cannot moan;
Like Niobe, are turn'd to stone!
Or like Lot's wife, when she beheld the wrack
Of her dear Sodom, looking back!
Strange property of Flame!—Stone to calcine;
Flesh to transform, to Stone and Brine!
Transformed so to Statues view them here,
By pale astonishment, and fear!
Smelling of Fire each one; and sing'd with heat;
Squalid their Cheeks with dust and sweat!
Hair stairing; red swollen Eyes; with gastly Look;
Blasted by Lightning; Thunder-strook!
Offer at words; then stop, and groan, as if
Their Tongues congealed were, and stiff!
Unfetter'd yet remain both Feet, and Hands,
From those stiff Adamantine Bands:
Self-preservation, and Instinct will shew
The Offices, these have to do:
Their Hands, to rescue Luggage, what they might;
Their Feet, to rescue them, by flight.
All in a hurry, loaded on his Back,
Is each one, shifting with his Pack.
No Arms are empty; and no Shoulders light;
Yet feel not of their Load the weight.
What vacant room, in any place, they spye,
Thither, in hast, with Goods they hye;
There lodge them:—Back again;—but then, as fast,
The rapid Flame prevents their hast.
Then empty handed, back; to guard the same
Few Goods, were ravish'd from the flame.
Care to secure that little, did betray
Their value, to the Thief a Prey.
Goods any where, at random hurl'd, in hast,
A Rescue from the Fires wast;
And Goods deliver'd out to unknown hands,
Of any one, there next that stands;
[Page 6] These, too, were ample Spoils to villain Thief,
Pretending kindness, for Relief.
O!—may such Vultures fret, with gripes within,
Of their own self-revenging sin!
May't prove a Rape, (snatch'd, as from Altar. Blest)
With glowing Coals, to fire their Nest!
Streets pyl'd with Goods; and straight those Pyles became
Fewel, to their own Fun'ral Flame.
A spacious Church there stood, on middle ground,
With noblest Streets encompass'd round:
This their Asylum; hither all do carry
Their choicest things, for sanctuary:
Rich Wares; and richer Books; and Treasure (sure)
Would here, or no where, be secure.
But loe! from Horns o'th' Altar they are snatch'd,
By Sacrilegious Fire attach'd!
Things Sacred, things Profane, are all become,
To th' greedy Flames, an Hecatomb!
O!—pray not, then, to Saints!—O! never swerve!
All Saints themselves could not preserve!
This goodly Fabrick, as a thing forelorn,
In pensive widow-hood doth mourn!
Like Sheep dispers'd, and scatter'd here, and there,
Her frequent solemn Meetings are
Frequented, in her yet remaining Towers,
By Screech-Owls hoarse, at mid-night hours!
There leave her still (no help, alas!) we must,
Down-sunk, and bury'd in her dust.
Turn we from hence, and see the neighbouring Pyles,
Flaming about, in Ranks and Files:
If Desolation, thus, Gods House infest,
What better Quarter may be given the rest?
Then (to make short) Northampton all, in view,
But one great Bon-fire doth shew.
Now in this general Wrack, 't were strange, if some,
As Pitchers, came not broken home.—
[Page 7] Home, did I call't?—Alas!—nor House, nor Home,
Nor Harbour standing, where to come!
The Havock such! the very Plot not known,
But yesterday it stood upon!
Yet, Skin for Skin: midst all their Losses, they
Their Lives had given them, for a Prey.
This Mercy, 'midst of Judgment, granted thee;
Better no House to be in, than not be.
When stripp'd of all, whilst living; whilst a man;
Th' art still a Cosmopolitan!
Children, some few, shiftless to make Retreat;
Pass'd through this burning Tophet's Heat.
Blest Innocents! by Baptism Fire,
Your Guardian Angels meant to mount you higher,
Above this Dung-hill Earth, and Mire!
Your Parents, here below, you sorrowing sought;
Got once to Heaven, they'l find you out.
This too, shall add some Glory to your Name:
Your Fates, together both; and both the same:
Yours, and your native Cities Fun'ral Flame!
An after-clap of Ruins then befel,
Renews our Sorrows here to tell!
Vain Man! (you'l say:) when, by one suddain blast,
Of rushing Wind, three were in pieces dasht!
Lighter than Wind, and Vanity, O then,
Remember still:—that we are men.
But, (to return) all else with Life retire,
Though most, as Brands, snatch'd out o'th Fire!
And thus retir'd, though they in safety be,
Yet, jealous of their fafety, flee.
The fearful Hare, thus, having gain'd the start
Of th' eager Hound, in every part,
For shelter, to some Covert, swift doth bear;
No Covert, yet, can shelter her from fear.
Such, also, is the bleeding Quarries dread,
From Faulcon's gripes when rescued.
[Page 8] As they, by little, and by little, came
Once to themselves; and fears grew tame;
Their flight restrained somewhat; and the rage
Of head-strong Passions to asswage:
Their Piety directs them now, to mind,
Where they their absent Friends might find.
How to retrive, and bring again to light,
Those sad remains of fire and flight.
Dispers'd, and shuffl'd multitudes among,
Each calls on other, in the throng.
Here, here, cryes one;—another, here am I;
yet cannot one another spy.
Those, whom their distant voices cannot reach,
Ask all, they meet with, each of each.
The Wife:—O, my dear Husband! where is he?
The Husband:—my poor Wife,—where's she?
Dear Mother:—O—where, where are you?—where's my Brother?
O,—my sweet Children!—cryes the Mother!
So, when by rav'ning Wolf the scatter'd Fold,
All o're the Champain, you behold;—
The bleating Ews their Sucklings; bleating Rams.
Rally their Ews, and bleating Lambs,
Till, by alternate bleatings, each to either,
All re-unite, and flock together.
Yet, different here:—for multitudes were fled,
Whether alive (who knows?) or dead?
Of whom, before, no tidings could be heard,
Few, here and there, by chance appear'd.
Those few, are met with, on the self-same ground,
Are rather stumbl'd on, than found.
For why? to every hospitable Farm,
The wandring Exiles thither swarm,
No Town, nor Village neer, that night, was free,
From Pilgrims, and heart-melting Sympathy.—
There leave we them, in safety full of cares,
And tossings on their Beds, and fears.
[Page 9] Yet let's be civil too, before we start,
And pay our shot; at least in part:
Kind-hearted Christian, worthy, noble Friends!
We would, but cannot make amends:
Your great obliging Love, and Favours such,
We ne're can value them too much!
To harbour the distress'd;—to furnish Bread.
To th' hungry, and half-famished!
To send us in Provisions every way;
Load us with kindness, day by day!
Consult, contrive, assist, with Head and Hands,
And Heart, and Purse!—O—these are Bands,
That must oblige!—may Heaven and Earth, repend
Like blessings on you,—to your end!
Never may Fire invade you;—may it be
Your Servant (always)—not your Enemy!
May peace; and happiness, and safety fall
Thick—thick, upon your Tabernacles all!
Thus taking leave; We'l back again to know
How fare the other amidst all their wo.
Retir'd;—the labouring Moon does disappear,
By charms as ravish'd from her Sphear!
A Sable Veil of Black's about her Head;
In Clouds of Smoak enveloped!
'T might seem, as if, amated at the sight,
Swooning, she dy'd away her Light!
The Light we had, was Flame, to see our Way;
And that; a counterfeited Day!
The Coast was clear; th' Inhabitants were fled;
But none (you may suppose) to Bed.
Some in the bordering Fields, Church-yard, or Close,
Back-lanes, or Orchards take repose.
Scorching and broyling in hot Fire, but new,
Now wet and shivering in cold Dew.
Or else, in quest of Friends, that missing were,
Wandering the Coasts about, in fear.
[Page 10] Distressed Friends: be not dismay'd for all
These hard mis-fortunes you befall!
Chear-up, nor give your black despair the scope;
So long as Life remains there's hope!
The time will come (though I no Prophet be)
Ere long you better days shall see:
You have a gracious God, a gracious King:
Mercy from both and bounty spring
God and the King your Friends, the Countreys all
Shall stand your Friends in general.
O!—pay we then, to both, here, every where,
All due Allegiance, and fear.
Night-shades do vanish;—new sprung day is born
From eye-lids of the purple morn.
Who is not now on fire to walk the round,
Of the new desolated ground?
('Tis a kind of pleasing horrour to look back,
When landed safe upon the Wrack.)
Here you behold a frightful Solitude,
VVhere late the sacred Temple stood.
Thence to the spacious Market turn your Eyes;
There the whole ruin'd Checquer lies!
The Drapery next in heaps of Rubbish down;
The second Beauty of the Town.
A third, which from th' adjacent Bridge takes name,
Laid level with the ground, by Flame!
St. Gyles to East;—with spacious Abington,
Streets, hand in hand, lye over-thrown!
Then that, which forward North, along doth roam,
She's her own Sepulcher become!
That next an ancient Colledge, long had grac'd,
VVith Ruins utterly defac'd!
The Gold-Street, by Antiphrasis so nam'd,
VVith all her Fellows, was enflam'd!
The Horse-frequented Market, all destroy'd!
The fatal Street, St. Maries void:
Fatal to all; there 'twas, the Fire began,
VVhich all the others over-ran.
[Page 11] We'l name no more, though Ruins more we sound,
Many, in walking of the round.
Imagin, now, you saw, before your Eye,
A Lyon seised on his Prey:
No rescue, till full gorg'd, and glutted, here
Two Legs lye scatter'd; there, an Ear.
Such the proportion is, 'twixt what the Fire
Devour'd; and what was left intire!
Thus fell Northampton; Darling once to Fame!
A Victim, now, to angry Flame.
Great London onely, Tow'ring in the Skyes,
Could her great Ruins equalize!
There yet remains (lov'd City) to reherse
Thy Epitaph, in mournful Verse.
Epitaphium.
WAy-faring Traveler, who e're thou be:
Hold on thy wonted Road, and see
A Spectacle; which (sure) thy thoughts will raise
To chilling Horrour, and Amaze!
Northampton here, Entomb'd in her own Dust
And Ashes lyes:—thy Emblem just:
Thou brave and frolick, shortly, in thy Urn,
To Dust and Ashes, thus, shalt turn.
She, at noon day, in health, and happy plight,
Straight, clouded with a gloomy night!
Lament her Fall;—with sobs, and flowing Eyes,
Come celebrate her Obsequies.
Fair Albion, Queen Regent of our Strand,
many fair Daughters doth command;
She, one the fair'st, and lovely'st in the throng
Of Sister Citys, all this Isle among.
[Page 12] Where Silver Avon doth her Flood combine,
In Wedlock tye, with Crystal Nine,
She, in the midst;—they all, as in a Ring,
About her round encirculing:
Fam'd See of Peterborough; Ʋppingham;
Huntington; Bedford; Buckingham;
With Warwick; Woster; Lichfeild; Coventre;
Leicester next; &cae.
Name them we may not, here, for want of room,
(Compendium, best, befits a Tomb.)
Onely, give leave to say:—These, neighbouring all,
With hundreds more, lament her Fall!
Fruitful her Soyl; delightful was her Seat,
—In Hill, and Champain, Mead, and Rivolet;
Healthful her Air,—three Elements conspire
In one, to bless her;—all, but Fire:
This works her speedy Ruin;—and with dread,
Show'rs Flames, and Vengeance on her head!
Ah, merciless, dear Element, might she,
Most truly, now, complain of thee!
But ah!—she is not: see both here, and there,
Her shatter'd Reliques, every where!
Embalm we then, with an officious Verse,
And pious Tears, her dolorous Herse!
Combine her Ashes; recollect her Dust;
Them to her Urn commit, in Trust!
Who knows, but she, ere long, a Phoenix, may,
Spring from those Ashes, bright as day?
Thy Votes, with ours, O—still and still renew,
Kind Passenger; And so—A dieu.
The END.