English Puritan & Reformed

Whitehall in Flames - A Pindaric Poem

John Tutchin (1661-1707) · 2,294 words · 10 min

The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo2/A95391.0001.001

Project Note

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The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.

This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.

Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.

However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.

This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.

Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org

WHITE-HALL in FLAMES. A Pindarick Poem. Occasion'd by The late Burning OF THAT Royal Palace.

By Mr. TUTCHIN.

LONDON, Printed for the Author, 1698. Price 6 d.

To the Right Honorable the Earl of MONTAGU, Viscount Mount Hermon, Baron Montague, Master of His Majesty's Wardrobe, and one of His Majesty's most Honorable Privy-Council.

My LORD,

TO prefix a noble Name to so inconsiderable a Trifle as this, may justly be esteemed a piece of the highest Arrongance; but the weakest Things need the greatest Suport: Nor can we blame a despicable Animal for retiring to a noble Shelter. The late Conflagration, which has made a ruinous Heap of the Royal Palace, must needs affect the most sordid Spirits, much more those of the Court, in whose Horizon, Your Lordship is a Star of the first Magnitude: From a just Resentment of this great Loss, the Destruction of the Royal Palace of our British Monarch, did I attempt the following Poem; its hasty Performance will admit of no Beauties in it, being writ in far less time than the Royal Palace was burning: And therefore if Your Lordship commit it to the Flames, from whence it had its Original, I shall not esteem it a too rigorous Sentence: But Experience has taught me, That Your Lordship can dispence Your Favors where there is no Merit, which embolden'd me to take this Opportunity of desiring the continuance of them to,

My very good LORD, Your Lordship's most obliged, devoted humble Servant, JOHN TUTCHIN.

White-Hall in FLAMES. A Pindarick POEM. Occasion'd by the late Burning, & c.

       I.
       
        HOW many turns of Fate we Mortals find,
       
        While Life's dull Pilgrimage we go?
       
        How weak, our Bulwarks prove
       
        When stormed by Almighty
        
         Jove?
        
        Who hoard up Thunder, Storms of Rain and Wind;
       
        Sometimes he darts his Bolts, his Billows rave,
       
        His forked Lightning spreads, his Winds do blow;
       
        Raises the Mother Waters from their Cell,
       
        In Earthy Caverns where they dwell,
       
        And for their infant Springs apartments have:
       
        sometimes unlinks the Chains of the vast Sea,
       
        Which now no longer do the Rocks obey,
       
        But overflow and drown the fertile Earth,
       
        Which had from
        
         Jove
        
        its Form and its Birth:
       
        Unbiass'd Fate does not prefer
       
        The Kingly Palaces
       
        To the low Hovel of the Cottager;
       
        Alike over both the Waves increase;
       
        'Twixt Prince and Peasant no distinction's found,
       
        In the same Waves they swim, in the same Deluge drowned.

       II.
       
        Fate has ten thousand other ways,
       
        Our fond established Hopes to raze,
       
        The Winds, the Clouds, the Sea, the Land,
       
        Waiting its beck and motion stand,
       
        And trembling Nature is at its command.
       
         Jove
        
        speaks the Word,
       
        And the whole Machine shakes,
       
        The Storms do roar, and Lightnings fly,
       
        With pointed
        
         Terror,
        
        round th' affrighted Sky:
       
        Here the Earth opens, there it quakes:
       
        Fate whets its broad destroying Sword.
       
        No Enemy more dangerous is,
       
        It's Warriors fierce and cruel do surprise,
       
        Their fatal Darts do seldom miss;
       
        Fate fights, and kills, and lays no heaps;
       
        A bloody Harvest reaps;
       
        Yet all it's Weapons undiscover'd by our Eyes.

       III.
       
        But one more dreadful than the rest,
       
        No pois'nous Serpent, nor no savage Beast,
       
        Thirsting for Blood, does thro' the Forest roar,
       
        Nor with more eagerness the Prey devour:
       
        When Fate this Instrument assumes,
       
        It human Minds with Terror fills,
       
        Without distinction kills;
       
        All things before it, it consumes,
       
        Before it all things fall;
       
        This Instrument of Death, we
        
         Fire
        
        call:
       
        A strange rapacious Foe,
       
        Ten thousand
        
         Hydra's
        
        does contain;
       
        If to dismember it we go,
       
        Prolifick Embers still remain,
       
        Which Fate puffs up unto a blaze;
       
        The direful Flames increase,
       
        Curling their Head, and darting Death
       
        At the unthinking Crowd beneath,
       
        Storm our Houses, and our Buildings raze.

       IV.
       
        But why should Fate command its Flames
       
        Our mighty
        
         WILLIAM
        
        's Palace to attack?
       
        Did it a Subject lack?
       
        To wreak its Vengeance on?
       
        It might as well have gone
       
        To the Extreams
       
        Of the cold icy frozen North,
       
        Where the chill'd Mortals Heat requrie;
       
        They would have thank'd it for its Fire.
       
        If naught but Kingly Palaces
       
        Could Fates devouring Wrath appease;
       
        It might as well have sent its
        
         Engine
        
        forth
       
        Towards he sultry Regions of the South;
       
        There, there it might a Tyrant find,
       
        Neither to Laws of God nor Man confined;
       
        There, there it might with equal Rage devour,
       
        With equal Fury seise
       
        His Palaces;
       
        As he his Subjects with Despotick Power:
       
        Those Regions yield
       
        Monarchs, that spend their Days
       
        In Luxury and Ease,
       
        And dread the Hardships of a Martial Field:
       
        The Tenement does hold
       
        A Prince, who never his Valour show,
       
        Who never a glorious Action knew;
       
        In Battels weak, in Murders bold;
       
        Foolish, yet insolent and proud;
       
        Contemn'd, and hated by the Crowd'
       
        Was a fit Subject for the Hate,
       
        The Rage, and Fury of devouring Fate.

       V.
       
         WILLIAM,
        
        whose Fame does brighter shine,
       
        Than all the Praise dull Annals boast,
       
        Of mighty
        
         Caefar, Constantine,
        
         Pompey,
        
        or all that ancient Race:
       
        No greater Man did ever Command an Host!
       
        Brighter by far,
       
        His Virtues are,
       
        Than the birght Fire,
       
        In which his Princely Palace did expire.
       
        A River could not once his Passage stop,
       
        When on the Banks the Forces join,
       
        And draw their large Battalions up,
       
        Of His and
        
         England
        
        's Foes;
       
        He bravely did their Front oppose,
       
        Drove Death before Him thro' th' affrighted
        
         Boys.
        
        But who to fight with Flames did go?
       
        A strange uncommon Foe!
       
        Yet had there been,
       
        Beyond the Flames, an
        
         Army
        
        seen,
       
        An Enemy me'r so brave,
       
        Designing
        
         England
        
        to enslave,
       
        He soon His Country had revenged,
       
        Pass'd through the Flames unhurt, unsing'd.

       VI.
       
        The Flames do now usurp the Sway;
       
        The slavish Buildings their Commands obey:
       
         Vulcan,
        
        the fastly God of Fire,
       
        Quits his Command,
       
        His deformed
        
         Cyclops
        
        stand
       
        Amas'd, and at the raging Flames admire.
       
        The Flames no difference do know,
       
        Without distinction go,
       
        From Servants Lodgings, to each beauteous Pile;
       
        Each gaudy Tenement annoy;
       
        With crackling Horror spread
       
        O're every Vulgar and each Noble Head,
       
        And with impetuous Fury do destroy
       
        The ancient Glory of our
        
         British Isle.
        
        Vast Crowds resort;
       
        Rous'd by the dread report:
       
        They come, and tremble as they stand,
       
        Their sinking Spirits cannot their Limbs command:
       
        All in amaze,
       
        They at the dreadful Fire gaze;
       
        Lament the Death of the expiring Court.

       VII.
       
        But some, more vig'rous than the rest,
       
        With less Confusion filled,
       
        Th' increasing Flames beheld:
       
        More active Courage they expressed,
       
        Some take their Buckets to the
        
         Thames;
        
        Whose winding Silver Streams
       
        Do now but gently flow,
       
        Stopping their Course, as if they meant to know
       
        How the Illustrious Buildings were.
       
        The affrighted
        
         Fish
        
        retire
       
        To th' other side, they saw the dismal Fire,
       
        And thought each Flame a Kitchen there.
       
        One takes the Water, and enraged,
       
        Is with the Flames engaged.
       
        The Flames past at him swift as Fate,
       
        And he as swift does with his Buckets fence.
       
        His Ammunition by the Fire dry'd,
       
        His by the Crowd with a fresh force supplied:
       
        When he does fight at such a Rate,
       
        You'd think him a
        
         Collosse
        
        of Brass;
       
        From whence
       
        Water did spout; but Flames do pass
       
        Around his Head, and he is forced to yield,
       
        Leaving the Victor in a conquered Field.

       VIII.
       
        But what is Force in such Extreams?
       
        And who can fence with
        
         Flames?
        
        To Policy they now retire;
       
        Since they cannot conquer, they contrive
       
        To stop the force of the insulting
        
         Fire:
        
        They do their utmost, hard they strive,
       
        They think it proper to remove
       
        Such Parts above,
       
        On which the Fire next would seize:
       
        Strait one ascends unto the top,
       
        Hoping it's Violence to stop;
       
        As soon as he the
        
         Flames
        
        attack'd,
       
        He was by others backed:
       
        None proved more desperate than these:
       
        Of these, those Giants had but little odds,
       
        Who on
        
         Olympus
        
        Hill opposed the God's.
       
        The
        
         Flames
        
        new Methods too pursue,
       
        They do their hidden Force renew;
       
        And while these Men aloft do go,
       
        They slily burn below;
       
        United
        
         Flames
        
        combine
       
        The Buildings t' undermine,
       
        While the bold
        
         Heroes
        
        on the top do crawl,
       
        They the Foundations sap,
       
        And dire mishap;
       
        The
        
         Heroes
        
        with the Buildings downwards fall.

       IX.
       
        This Project failing they retire
       
        To other Methods, how to stop the Fire;
       
        They find in vain they strove,
       
        Water does unsuccessful prove;
       
        One thinks it right,
       
        Such bold attempting Foes
       
        They with new Fire should oppose,
       
        And with their own insulting Weapons fight.
       
        The Guards are now to their assistance brought:
       
        Those Guards which breathe
       
        Nothing but Blood and Death;
       
        Whose Valour all the wondering World admites;
       
        In Head of whom our mighty
        
         WILLIAM
        
        fought,
       
        Large Trophies won,
       
        Immortal Garlands of Renown:
       
        Acquainted with more dread and dismal Fires,
       
        These presently prepare
       
        The horrid Instruments of War,
       
        Their hellish Powder place
       
        Within the Walls, compress'd by weight,
       
        They lay their Trains, and straight
       
        The mighty Blow is heard;
       
        Which makes even
        
         Fate
        
        itself afraid;
       
        Which standing by, stares the attempters in the face,
       
        Asham'd to own
       
        Its self by human Gallantry outdone.

       X.
       
        Had
        
         WILLIAM
        
        but as many
        
         Foes
        
        As Sparks do from these
        
         Flames
        
        arise;
       
        Or Sands we in the Mortar find,
       
        Which does the Buildings in contiguous order bind,
       
        How willingly would they oppose?
       
        How daringly despise
       
        His and the Nations Enemies?
       
        With Him they've past
       
        Regions, over desolate and waste;
       
        With Him they've gone
       
        Pinch'd by the Cold and scorched by the hot Sun;
       
        Have sometimes cut their Passage thro' the Sreams;
       
        But who, the Devil, can contend with
        
         Flames?
        
        Which if we do in one Place rout,
       
        Strait in another do break out,
       
        And do Destruction over the whole dispense;
       
        In vain we fence,
       
        In vain we strive,
       
        Our Destiny we cannot retrieve,
       
        Or Limits to their wasting Fury give;
       
        Their Rage admits no bar;
       
        Curling their Head, they threaten Death from far.

       XI.
       
        But now another sort of Men appear,
       
        Compleatly armed for the fiery War,
       
        For such like Enterprises trained,
       
        And have long time the Guards remained
       
        Of fair
        
         Augusta,
        
        when insulting Fire
       
        Her Houses did attack,
       
        These did oppose
       
        And quelled her fiery Foes;
       
        Rescu'd at once their Wealth and State,
       
        From the dire Insults of Fate:
       
        As great
        
         Aeneas
        
        on his Back
       
        Bore thro' the Flames his aged Sire.
       
        But Fate afraid that these
       
        Wou'd the destroying Flames appease,
       
        With greater force drives on
       
        The fell Destruction:
       
        Around the Palace does its
        
         Engines
        
        send,
       
        With greater Fury than before;
       
        The Flames devour,
       
        They crackle, blaze, and roar,
       
        Their Force on every Angle bend;
       
        Nor Brick, nor Stone, nor Wood they spare,
       
        But all things fall in this destructive War.
       
        Of
        
         White-Hall
        
        now is only left the Name,
       
        Its Beauty's gone
       
        Does like the
        
         Aethiops
        
        lie,
       
        Which in hot
        
         Afric
        
        's sandy Regions fry,
       
        Scorch'd by the Heat of a more Torrid Sun:
       
        Here Houses level'd with the Ground,
       
        There Heaps of Rubbiish lie;
       
        Yonder are mangl'd Pillars found,
       
        Whole Stacks of Chimnies thrown,
       
        And Bricks like Bullets blown,
       
        Do upwards fly,
       
        As if they meant to attempt the Bulwarks of the Sky:
       
        All the same Fate must have,
       
        One common Grave;
       
        All must in Universal Ruin lie.
       
        Scarce could the Industry,
       
        Of
        
         Machiavilian
        
        Policy,
       
        Save from devouring Fate,
       
        The Books and Records of the
        
         British
        
        State.

       XIII.
       
        To every Angle now the Flames extend
       
        With rapid Force,
       
        Without Remorse,
       
        In pieces rend,
       
        Building which did some hundred Years engage,
       
        Th' Assaults of eating Time and Age.
       
        But now, behold
       
        How rav'nous and how bold,
       
        The impious Flames do seise
       
        On Great
        
         MARIA
        
        's Lodging Place:
       
        The Great
        
         MARIA,
        
        whose blest Name we own,
       
        Tho' to th'
        
         Aetherial
        
        Regions She is gone:
       
        Had She been living now,
       
        With such a Face, and such a Brow,
       
        She would the raging Destinies oppose,
       
        And quell these scorching Foes:
       
        That Fate in vain should its dull Tapers light,
       
        Augmented by the darkness of of the Night:
       
        Its yielding Fire,
       
        Before Her brighter Virtues would retire;
       
        As the pale Luster of the nightly Moon,
       
        Retreats before the rising of the Sun.

       XIV.
       
        Let Fate Her Lodgings now engage,
       
        There try its utmost Rage,
       
        Thither no Succor send, give no Relief;
       
        What does of Her remain,
       
        Can but augment out Pain;
       
        Her very Mem'ry does increase our Grief:
       
        Just as She went away
       
        To the blest Empires of Eternal Day,
       
        Had rummag'd all its Stores of Death,
       
        Depriv'd unhappy Mortals of their Breath;
       
        How easily we could prevent
       
        Its raging Force,
       
        And stop its Course:
       
        Then, then our Tears did freely flow,
       
        Whose briny Deluge would the Fire quench;
       
        The mournful Flood
       
        Would drowned its Fury, and it would
       
        Its thirsty Soul in briny Liquor drench:
       
        We then could Fate itself surprise;
       
        Sunk in the mighty Deluge of our Eyes.

       XV.
       
        Just as the undigested
        
         Chaos
        
        lay,
       
        When Time and all the Elements did commence,
       
        Form'd by Omnipotence,
       
        And gastly Night did usher in the Day:
       
        Just so the Palace lies in pieces burst;
       
        Rude as the World when 'twas created first.
       
        But while we do relate
       
        The dire Decrees, resolves of Fate,
       
        And of its Justice, do inquire,
       
        Why should this Palace thus be purged with Fire?
       
        Here 'twas that Hellish Plot was laid,
       
        Which of our City one great
        
         Bonfire
        
        made;
       
        Contriv'd by those
       
        Whose numerous Crimes augment their Parents Score,
       
        And vilely had before,
       
        Burnt their solemn
        
         Leagues,
        
        and broke both
        
         Vow
        
        and
        
         Oaths.
        
        When the vast Deluge overflow'd the Earth,
       
        It gave the drownded World a better Birth:
       
         London
        
        did thus from heaps of Rubbish rise,
       
        Start up with Piramids do threat the Skies.
       
        Thus may the Royal Palace, brought so low,
       
        A
        
         Phoenix
        
        rise, in comely Order too,
       
        Glorious as mighty
        
         WILLIAM
        
        is in Deeds,
       
        O're-topping all, as Gaints common Heads.

FINIS.