Such was the rise of this prodigious fire
Which in mean buildings first obscurely bread
Thence it did soon to open streets aspire
And straight to palaces and temples it spread

In that deep quiet
from what source unknown
grew seeds of fire,
a fatal birth,
With the task to commence a devastating riot
yet it stood alone with a burning desire,
this prodigious fire

This inferno awakened by the sin
of a mighty city
with the quest to extinguish this forsaken kin
with yet no pity
A fire so intence
to ultimately cleance the streets of London

That glowing spirit those steady walls so quietly scaled
as so firmly the population failed.
Cleansing was the fire
for it released the city from the dire

No words with lack of rejoice
nor deeds of optional choise
could stop that horrible noise
for the noise of purity is silence

When the trees and lumber
had burnt into slumber,
The raging fire burnt out
and behind it left a drought.
But not even the vital lack of resources
Could stop the town of London to rise again.

Now, maybe, you feel sad about this pagan city
And the people within you pity
But I say this event was bitty
For you must admit, the fire was quite witty…


In memory of the great fire, which took place in London 1666/09/05, and in honour of John Dryden.