206 Some bound for Guinea, golden sand to find, Bore all the gauds the simple natives wear; Some for the pride of Turkish courts design'd, For folded turbans finest Holland bear. 207 Some English wool, vex'd in a Belgian loom, And into cloth of spungy softness made, Did into France, or colder Denmark, doom, To ruin with worse ware our staple trade. 208 Our greedy seamen rummage every hold, Smile on the booty of each wealthier chest; And, as the priests who with their gods make bold, Take what they like, and sacrifice the rest. 209 But ah! how insincere are all our joys! Which, sent from heaven, like lightning make no stay; Their palling taste the journey's length destroys, Or grief, sent post, o'ertakes them on the way. 210 Swell'd with our late successes on the foe, Which France and Holland wanted power to cross, We urge an unseen fate to lay us low, And feed their envious eyes with English loss. 211 Each element His dread command obeys, Who makes or ruins with a smile or frown; Who, as by one he did our nation raise, So now he with another pulls us down. 212 Yet London, empress of the northern clime, By an high fate thou greatly didst expire; Great as the world's, which, at the death of time Must fall, and rise a nobler frame by fire! 213 As when some dire usurper[48] Heaven provides, To scourge his country with a lawless sway; His birth perhaps some petty village hides, And sets his cradle out of fortune's way. 214 Till fully ripe his swelling fate breaks out, And hurries him to mighty mischiefs on: His prince, surprised at first, no ill could doubt, And wants the power to meet it when 'tis known. 215 Such was the rise of this prodigious fire, Which, in mean buildings first obscurely bred, From thence did soon to open streets aspire, And straight to palaces and temples spread. 216 The diligence of trades and noiseful gain, And luxury more late, asleep were laid: All was the night's; and in her silent reign No sound the rest of nature did invade. 217 In this deep quiet, from what source unknown, Those seeds of fire their fatal birth disclose; And first few scattering sparks about were blown, Big with the flames that to our ruin rose. 218 Then in some close-pent room it crept along, And, smouldering as it went, in silence fed; Till the infant monster, with devouring strong, Walk'd boldly upright with exalted head. 219 Now like some rich or mighty murderer, Too great for prison, which he breaks with gold; Who fresher for new mischiefs does appear, And dares the world to tax him with the old: