







 
   
     
       
         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. ... a sad spectator of that frightful scene.
         Ford, Simon, 1619?-1699.
      
       
         
           1677
        
      
       Approx. 24 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 9 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images.
       
         Text Creation Partnership,
         Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :
         2009-10 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).
         A39912
         Wing F1486
         ESTC R38879
         18183581
         ocm 18183581
         106943
         
           
            This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of
             Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal
            . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
          
        
      
       
         Early English books online.
      
       
         (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A39912)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 106943)
         Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1123:27)
      
       
         
           
             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. ... a sad spectator of that frightful scene.
             Ford, Simon, 1619?-1699.
             F. A.
          
           [4], 12 p.
           
             Printed for John Wright, and are to be sold by William Cockrain ...,
             London :
             1677.
          
           
             Reproduction of original in the British Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.
         Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors.
      
       
         EEBO-TCP is a partnership between the Universities of Michigan and Oxford and the publisher ProQuest to create accurately transcribed and encoded texts based on the image sets published by ProQuest via their Early English Books Online (EEBO) database (http://eebo.chadwyck.com). The general aim of EEBO-TCP is to encode one copy (usually the first edition) of every monographic English-language title published between 1473 and 1700 available in EEBO.
         EEBO-TCP aimed to produce large quantities of textual data within the usual project restraints of time and funding, and therefore chose to create diplomatic transcriptions (as opposed to critical editions) with light-touch, mainly structural encoding based on the Text Encoding Initiative (http://www.tei-c.org).
         The EEBO-TCP project was divided into two phases. The 25,363 texts created during Phase 1 of the project have been released into the public domain as of 1 January 2015. Anyone can now take and use these texts for their own purposes, but we respectfully request that due credit and attribution is given to their original source.
         Users should be aware of the process of creating the TCP texts, and therefore of any assumptions that can be made about the data.
         Text selection was based on the New Cambridge Bibliography of English Literature (NCBEL). If an author (or for an anonymous work, the title) appears in NCBEL, then their works are eligible for inclusion. Selection was intended to range over a wide variety of subject areas, to reflect the true nature of the print record of the period. In general, first editions of a works in English were prioritized, although there are a number of works in other languages, notably Latin and Welsh, included and sometimes a second or later edition of a work was chosen if there was a compelling reason to do so.
         Image sets were sent to external keying companies for transcription and basic encoding. Quality assurance was then carried out by editorial teams in Oxford and Michigan. 5% (or 5 pages, whichever is the greater) of each text was proofread for accuracy and those which did not meet QA standards were returned to the keyers to be redone. After proofreading, the encoding was enhanced and/or corrected and characters marked as illegible were corrected where possible up to a limit of 100 instances per text. Any remaining illegibles were encoded as <gap>s. Understanding these processes should make clear that, while the overall quality of TCP data is very good, some errors will remain and some readable characters will be marked as illegible. Users should bear in mind that in all likelihood such instances will never have been looked at by a TCP editor.
         The texts were encoded and linked to page images in accordance with level 4 of the TEI in Libraries guidelines.
         Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements).
         
          Keying and markup guidelines are available at the
           Text Creation Partnership web site
          .
        
      
       
         
         
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
       
         
           Elegiac poetry, English.
        
      
    
     
        2006-11 TCP
        Assigned for keying and markup
      
        2006-11 Apex CoVantage
        Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images
      
        2007-01 Celeste Ng
        Sampled and proofread
      
        2007-04 Apex CoVantage
        Rekeyed and resubmitted
      
        2009-01 Mona Logarbo
        Sampled and proofread
      
        2009-01 Mona Logarbo
        Text and markup reviewed and edited
      
        2009-02 pfs
        Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
      
    
  
   
     
       
         
         
           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
           Nut-shell
           )
           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
             .
          
           
             'T
             was
             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
             ;
             'T
             is
             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
             ;
          
           
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             'T
             is
             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
             !
          
           
           
             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
               :
               —
               yonder
               's
               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
             !
          
           
           
             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
             !
          
           
             'T
             is
             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
             ,
          
           
           
             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
             ;
          
           
           
             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
             .
             —
          
           
           
             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
             .
          
           
           
             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
             .
          
           
           
             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
             .
          
           
           
             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
             ?
          
           
             (
             'T
             is
             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
             't
             was
             ,
             the
             Fire
             began
             ,
          
           
             VVhich
             all
             the
             others
             over-ran
             .
          
           
           
             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
               .
            
             
             
               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
                 ;
                 Vppingham
              
               ;
            
             
               Huntington
               ;
               Bedford
               ;
               Buckingham
               ;
            
             
               With
               Warwick
               ;
               Woster
               ;
               Lichfeild
               ;
               Coventre
               ;
            
             
               Leicester
               next
               ;
               &c
               ae
               .
            
             
               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
           .
        
      
    
     
  

