More than his guards his sorrows made him known, And pious tears which down his cheeks did shower: The wretched in his grief forgot their own;

So much the pity of a king has power.

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

Nor with an idle care did he behold:

Subjects may grieve, but monarchs must redress;
He cheers the fearful and commends the bold,
And makes despairers hope for good success.
Himself directs what first is to be done,
And orders all the succours which they bring:
The helpful and the good about him run,
And form an army worthy such a king.
He sees the dire contagion spread so fast,
That where it seizes, all relief is vain :
And therefore must unwillingly lay waste
That country, which would else the foe maintain.
The powder blows up all before the fire:
Th' amazed flames stand gather'd on a heap ;
And from the precipice's brink retire,
Afraid to venture on so large a leap.

Thus fighting fires awhile themselves consume,
But straight like Turks, forced on to win or die,
They first lay tender bridges of their fume,
And o'er the breach in unctuous vapours fly.
Part stays for passage, till a gust of wind
Ships o'er their forces in a shining sheet:
Part creeping under ground their journey blind,
And climbing from below their fellows meet.
Thus to some desert plain, or old wood-side,

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

No help avails: for, hydra-like, the fire
Lifts up his hundred heads to aim his way:
And scarce the wealthy can one half retire,
Before he rushes in to share the prey.

The rich grow suppliant, and the poor grow proud:
Those offer mighty gain, and these ask more:
So void of pity is the ignoble crowd,

When others' ruin may increase their store.

As those, who live by shores, with joy behold
Some wealthy vessel split or stranded nigh;
And from the rocks leap down for shipwreck'd gold,
And seek the tempest which the others fly:
So these but wait the owner's last despair,

And what's permitted to the flames invade;
Ev'n from their jaws they hungry morsels tear,
And on their backs the spoils of Vulcan lade.
The days were all in this lost labour spent ;
And when the weary king gave place to night,
His beams he to his royal brother lent,

And so shone still in his reflective light.

Night came, but without darkness or repose,
A dismal picture of the general doom;
Where souls distracted when the trumpet blows,
And half unready with their bodies come.
Those who have homes, when home they do repair,
To a last lodging call their wandering friends:
Their short uneasy sleeps are broke with care,

To look how near their own destruction tends. Those who have none, sit round where once it was, And with full eyes each wonted room require: Haunting the yet warm ashes of the place,

As murder'd men walk where they did expire.
Some stir up coals and watch the vestal fire,
Others in vain from sight of ruin run;
And while through burning labyrinths they retire,
With loathing eyes repeat what they would shun.
The most in fields like herded beasts lie down,
To dews obnoxious on the grassy floor;

And while their babes in sleep their sorrows drown,
Sad parents watch the remnants of their store.
While by the motion of the flames they guess
What streets are burning now, and what are near,
An infant waking to the paps would press,
And meets instead of milk, a falling tear.

No thought can ease them but their sovereign's care,
Whose praise the afflicted as their comfort sing:
E'en those whom want might drive to just despair,
Think life a blessing under such a king.
Meantime he sadly suffers in their grief,
Out-weeps an hermit, and out-prays a saint:
All the night long he studies their relief,
How they may be supplied, and he may want.
"O God," said he, "thou patron of my days,
Guide of my youth in exile and distress!
Who me unfriended brought by wond'rous ways,
The kingdom of my fathers to possess:

"Be thou my judge, with what unwearied care
I since have labour'd for my people's good;
To bind the bruises of a civil war,

And stop the issues of their wasting blood.
"Thou, who hast taught me to forgive the ill,
And recompense, as friends, the good misled:
If mercy be a precept of thy will,

Return that mercy on thy servant's head.
"Or if my heedless youth has stept astray,
Too soon forgetful of thy gracious hand;
On me alone thy just displeasure lay,

But take thy judgments from this mourning land.
"We all have sinn'd, and thou hast laid us low,
As humble earth from whence at first we came:
Like flying shades before the clouds we show,
And shrink like parchment in consuming flame.

"O let it be enough what thou hast done;

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

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

"O pass not, Lord, an absolute decree,
Or bind thy sentence unconditional:
But in thy sentence our remorse foresee,
And in that foresight this thy doom recal.