I made the fire-bell awake, I felt the bell-rope throb and shake; I felt the air mingle and clang And beat the walls a muffled bang, And stifle back and boom and bay Like muffled peals on Boxing Day, And then surge up and gather shape, And spread great pinions and escape; And each great bird of clanging shrieks O Fire, Fire! from iron beaks. My shoulders cracked to send around Those shrieking birds made out of sound With news of fire in their bills. (They heard ’em plain beyond Wall Hills.) Up go the winders, out come heads, I heard the springs go creak in beds; But still I heave and sweat and tire, And still the clang goes ’Fire, Fire!’ ’Where is it, then? Who is it, there? You ringer, stop, and tell us where.’ ’Run round and let the Captain know.’ ’It must be bad, he’s ringing so.’ ’It’s in the town, I see the flame; Look there! Look there, how red it came.’ ’Where is it, then ’O stop the bell.’ I stopped and called: ’It’s fire of hell; And this is Sodom and Gomorrah, And now I’ll burn you up, begorra.’ By this the firemen were mustering, The half-dressed stable men were flustering, Backing the horses out of stalls While this man swears and that man bawls, ’Don’t take th’old mare. Back, Toby, back. Back, Lincoln. Where’s the fire, Jack?’ ’Damned if I know. Out Preston way.’ ’No. It’s at Chancey’s Pitch, they say.’ ’It’s sixteen ricks at Pauntley burnt.’ ’You back old Darby out, I durn’t.’ They ran the big red engine out, And put ’em to with damn and shout. And then they start to raise the shire, ’Who brought the news, and where’s the fire?’ They’d moonlight, lamps, and gas to light ’em. I give a screech-owl’s screech to fright ’em, And snatch from underneath their noses The nozzles of the fire hoses. ’I am the fire. Back, stand back, Or else I’ll fetch your skulls a crack; D’you see these copper nozzles here? They weigh ten pounds apiece, my dear; I’m fire of hell come up this minute To burn this town, and all that’s in it. To burn you dead and burn you clean, You cogwheels in a stopped machine, You hearts of snakes, and brains of pigeons, You dead devout of dead religions, You offspring of the hen and ass, By Pilate ruled, and Caiaphas. Now your account is totted. Learn Hell’s flames are loose and you shall burn.’ At that I leaped and screamed and ran, I heard their cries go ’Catch him, man.’ ’Who was it?’ ’Down him.’ ’Out him, Ern. ’Duck him at pump, we’ll see who’ll burn.’ A policeman clutched, a fireman clutched, A dozen others snatched and touched. ’By God, he’s stripped down to his buff.’ ’By God, we’ll make him warm enough.’ ’After him.’ ’Catch him,’ ’Out him,’ ’Scrob him. ’We’ll give him hell.’ ’By God, we’ll mob him.’ ’We’ll duck him, scrout him, flog him, fratch him. ’All right,’ I said. ’But first you’ll catch him.’