LONDON Undone OR A Reflection upon the Late DISASTROUS FIRE NO more Historians your surmise recant For London's Flames have proved her Troy-Novant Pack that Pack may all ready to be gone For every man was an Ucaligon London that once was glory of the World Heaps upon heaps is in confusion hurled The Head and Foot the Root and Branch embrace The lofty Turret and the lowly base Tables and Stools as they the Flames were wooing Contribute matter to their own undoing Their Goods alas men knew not where to carry For even the Churches were no Sanctuary Such as conveyed their Treasure to St. Paul In hope they there were safe even they lost all No Eye could travel thither but it meets Too many Authors in their winding Sheets Th' imperious Flames about each Arch did hover Till every Book had got on a red cover And so continued in that furious rage That it writ Finis in the Title Page What any saved as who would not desire He earnt it for he got it out o' th' Fire Our Merchants turned O sad to the beholders Scotch Merchants with their shops upon their shoulders Places were lost where Coach and Cart might meet A half  Steeple was the Sign o' th' Street A dumb deformity could nothing say No not so much as give ye time o' th' day Houses lay topsy turvy Farewell Rents For now like Isea'lites we dwell in Tents Here Parson we Pluralities allow I fear ye ye l scarcely make one Church of two For fatal Time with his impartial Sith Has mowed down all scarce left so much as Tithe And what yet much more sad is with the Dead A man may see the Living buried But that those Hobnailed Clowns should be so chubbish Whom though we knew much base than our rubbish Those pilfering Country-coridons' that they Should come to make of us a second prey E'er I 'd have answered their unjust desire I 'd first have seen my Goods and then i' th' Fire But then alas men had no time to talk No more but so Take up your Bed and walk Into the Fields on that bleak dew-dropt Grass Where the Earth Bed and Heaven its Taster was Infants and aged quartered row by row Never more Quarters had morefield's then now The Miscellany made in every square The Counterfeit of the Great Bed of Ware Like those in debt the People durst not troth Along the Streets the Stones they were too hot This London might be spoken of thy fall  Wine was plenteous at thy Funeral And as Eye-witness I may well report Thy Bearers were those of the better sort This to the Field that to the Water bears The City than swarmed with Philosophers In brief that I may to a period come Never was day so sadly burdensome Day did I say Alas we had no Night For a whole week together 't was t●o light Ah lovely London cruel Fate and strange Beauty for Ashes 't is a sad Exchange When such as did in cieled Houses dwell Live now like Hermits in a smoky Cell Me thinks I tremble still at the sad sight Where loads were heavy and the houses light Sad Spectacle for maugre all endeavour London departed of a burning Fever Let others look at second Causes I See nothing in it but a D 〈…〉 If I look up to Heavens A 〈…〉 ty Lord I shall with David see the Angels Sword Shall I with A●sop's Dog snarl at the Stone No I 'll observe the Hand whence it was thrown My Sins have forced this Vengeance from my God Shall I then kick No I will kiss the Rod And by Repentance to my God be turning Who might have made this Everlasting burning Nor doubt I but if from our sins we cease The Lord of Hosts will be the Prince of Peace Then shall this ruined City like a Ball Rebound so much the higher for her fall And with the Phoenix Heaven will so contrive From her own Ashes shall again revive When like the Churches you her Streets shall see Founded and fronted uniformallie Houses so firmly built so fairly furnished As if it had been burnt but to be burnished Then you will conclude with me the Flames were kind She was not so much ruined as refined London Printed by E. C. for H. Eversden and H. Brome 1666.