275 Nor could thy fabric, Paul's, defend thee long, Though thou wert sacred to thy Maker's praise: Though made immortal by a poet's song;

And poets' songs the Theban walls could raise.

276 The daring flames peep'd in, and saw from far
The awful beauties of the sacred quire:
But since it was profaned by civil war,

Heaven thought it fit to have it purged by fire.

277 Now down the narrow streets it swiftly came, And widely opening did on both sides prey: This benefit we sadly owe the flame,

If only ruin must enlarge our way.

278 And now four days the sun had seen our woes:
Four nights the moon beheld the incessant fire:
It seem'd as if the stars more sickly rose,
And farther from the feverish north retire.

279 In th' empyrean heaven, the bless'd abode,
The Thrones and the Dominions prostrate lie,
Not daring to behold their angry God;

And a hush'd silence damps the tuneful sky.

280 At length the Almighty cast a pitying eye,

And mercy softly touch'd his melting breast:
He saw the town's one half in rubbish lie,
And eager flames drive on to storm the rest.

281 An hollow crystal pyramid he takes, In firmamental waters dipt above; Of it a broad extinguisher he makes,

And hoods the flames that to their quarry drove.

282 The vanquish'd fires withdraw from every place,
Or, full with feeding, sink into a sleep:
Each household genius shows again his face,

And from the hearths the little Lares creep.

283 Our King this more than natural change beholds;
With sober joy his heart and eyes abound:
To the All-good his lifted hands he folds,

And thanks him low on his redeemed ground.

284 As when sharp frosts had long constrain'd the earth, A kindly thaw unlocks it with mild rain;

And first the tender blade peeps up to birth,

And straight the green fields laugh with promised
grain:

285 By such degrees the spreading gladness grew
In every heart which fear had froze before:
The standing streets with so much joy they view,
That with less grief the perish'd they deplore.

286 The father of the people open'd wide

His stores, and all the poor with plenty fed:
Thus God's anointed God's own place supplied,
And fill'd the empty with his daily bread.

287 This royal bounty brought its own reward,

And in their minds so deep did print the sense, That if their ruins sadly they regard,

'Tis but with fear the sight might drive him thence.

288 But so may he live long, that town to sway,
Which by his auspice they will nobler make,
As he will hatch their ashes by his stay,
And not their humble ruins now forsake.

289 They have not lost their loyalty by fire;

Nor is their courage or their wealth so low,
That from his wars they poorly would retire,
Or beg the pity of a vanquish'd foe.

290 Not with more constancy the Jews of old, By Cyrus from rewarded exile sent, Their royal city did in dust behold,

Or with more vigour to rebuild it went.

291 The utmost malice of their stars is past,

And two dire comets, which have scourged the town, In their own plague and fire have breathed the last, Or dimly in their sinking sockets frown.

292 Now frequent trines the happier lights among,

And high-raised Jove, from his dark prison freed, Those weights took off that on his planet hung,

Will gloriously the new-laid work succeed.

293 Methinks already from this chemic flame,
I see a city of more precious mould:
Rich as the town which gives the Indies name,
With silver paved, and all divine with gold.

294 Already labouring with a mighty fate,

She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow, And seems to have renew'd her charter's date, Which Heaven will to the death of time allow.

295 More great than human now, and more august,
Now deified she from her fires does rise:

Her widening streets on new foundations trust,
And opening into larger parts she flies.

296 Before, she like some shepherdess did show,
Who sat to bathe her by a river's side;
Not answering to her fame, but rude and low,
Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride.

297 Now, like a maiden queen, she will behold,

From her high turrets, hourly suitors come;
The East with incense, and the West with gold,
Will stand, like suppliants, to receive her doom!

298 The silver Thames, her own domestic flood, Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train; And often wind, as of his mistress proud,

With longing eyes to meet her face again.

299 The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine, The glory of their towns no more shall boast; And Seine, that would with Belgian rivers join, Shall find her lustre stain'd, and traffic lost.

300 The venturous merchant who design'd more far,
And touches on our hospitable shore,

Charm'd with the splendour of this northern star,
Shall here unlade him, and depart no more.

301 Our powerful navy shall no longer meet,

The wealth of France or Holland to invade ;
The beauty of this town without a fleet,

From all the world shall vindicate her trade.

302 And while this famed emporium we prepare, The British ocean shall such triumphs boast, That those, who now disdain our trade to share, Shall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast.

303 Already we have conquer'd half the war,

And the less dangerous part is left behind:
Our trouble now is but to make them dare,

And not so great to vanquish as to find.

304 Thus to the Eastern wealth through storms we go,
But now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more;
A constant trade-wind will securely blow,
And gently lay us on the spicy shore.

AN ESSAY UPON SATIRE.

BY MR DRYDEN AND THE EARL OF MULGRAVE,1 1679.

How dull, and how insensible a beast

Is man, who yet would lord it o'er the rest!

Philosophers and poets vainly strove

In every age the lumpish mass to move :

But those were pedants, when compared with these,
Who know not only to instruct, but please.
Poets alone found the delightful way,
Mysterious morals gently to convey

In charming numbers; so that as men grew
Pleased with their poems, they grew wiser too.
Satire has always shone among the rest,

And is the boldest way, if not the best,

To tell men freely of their foulest faults;

To laugh at their vain deeds, and vainer thoughts.

10

'Mulgrave:' Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham. It was for this satire, the joint composition of Dryden and Sheffield, that Rochester hired bravoes to cudgel Dryden.