fire was got under, it was kept under, and on Thursday the flames were extinguished.

But on Wednesday night, when the people late of London, now of the fields, hoped to get a little rest on the ground, where they had spread their beds, a more dreadful fear falls upon them than they had before, through a rumour that the French were coming armed against them to cut their throats, and spoil them of what they had saved out of the fire; they were now naked and weak, and in an ill-condition to defend themselves, and the hearts, especially of the females, do quake and tremble, and are ready to die within them; yet many citizens having lost their houses, and almost all that they had, are fired with rage and fury; and they begin to stir up themselves like lions, or like bears bereaved of their whelps, and now Arm, arm, arm, doth resound the fields and suburbs with a great noise. We may guess at the distress and perplexity of the people this night, which was something alleviated when the falseness of the alarm was perceived.

Thus fell great London, that ancient city! that populous city! London! which was the queen city of the land, and as famous as most cities in the world; none so famous for the gospel and zealous profession of the reformed religion. And yet how is London departed like smoke, and her glory laid in the dust! How is her destruction come, which no man thought of, and her desolation in a moment! How do the nations about gaze and wonder! How doth the whole land tremble at the noise of her fall! How

do her citizens droop and hang down their heads; her women and virgins weep, and sit in the dust! Oh, the paleness that now sits upon the cheeks! the astonishment and confusion that covers the face, the dismal apprehensions that arise in the minds of most concerning the dreadful consequences which are likely to be of this fall of London! How is the pride of London stained, and beauty spoiled, her arm broken, and strength departed, her riches almost gone, and treasures so much consumed! The head now is sick, and the whole body faint; the heart is wounded, and every other part is sensible of its stroke; never was England in greater danger of being made a prey to a foreign power, than since the firing and fall of this city, which had the strength and treasure of the nation in it. How is London ceased, that rich city! that joyous city! One corner indeed is left; but more than as many houses as were within the walls, are turned into ashes.

The merchants now have left the Royal Exchange; the buyers and sellers have now forsaken the streets: Gracechurch-street, Cornhill, Cheapside, Newgate-market, and the like places, which used sometime to have throngs of traffickers, now are become empty of inhabitants; and instead of the stately houses which stood there last summer, now they lie this winter in ruinous heaps. The glory of London is now fled away like a bird, the trade of London is shattered and broken to pieces, her delights also are vanished, and pleasant things laid waste: now no chaunting to the sound of the viol, and dancing to the

sweet music of other instruments; now no drinking wine in bowls, and stretching upon the beds of lust: now no excess of wine and banquettings; no feasts in halls and curious dishes; no amorous looks, and wanton dalliances; no ruffling silks, and costly dresses; these things in that place are at an end. But if houses for sin alone were sunk, and fuel for lust only were consumed, it would not be so much: but the houses also for God's worship, (which formerly were a bulwark against the fire; partly through the walls about them, partly through the fervent prayers within them,) now are devoured by the flames, and the habitations of many who truly fear God, have not escaped: and in the places where God hath been served, and his servants have lived, now nettles are growing, owls are screeching, thieves and cut-throats are lurking: a sad face there is now in the ruinous part of London, and terrible hath the voice of the Lord been, which hath been crying, yea, roaring in the city by these dreadful judgments of the plague and fire, which he hath brought upon us.

Thus you have the narration of the judgments themselves.

SECT. VII.

Concerning the Cause of these judgments; why hath the Lord spoken by such terrible things in the city of London?

IN giving an account hereof, I shall make use of the second Doctrine observed from the words:

Doct. 2. That when God speaks most terribly. he doth answer most righteously.

They are God's judgments, and therefore they must needs be righteous judgments: can there be unrighteousness in God? No, in no wise; for how then could he be God? How then "could he judge the world? Let God be true,

and every man a liar," Rom. iii. 5, 6. Let God be righteous, and all the world unrighteous; for light may more easily depart from the sun, and hcat be separated from the fire, and the whole creation may more easily drop into nothing, than ̧ God cease to be just and righteous, in the severest judgments which he doth inflict upon the children of men.

If any profane mockers do reply against God, and reflect upon his righteousness and goodness towards his own people, because these judgments have fallen so sore upon London, the glory of the land, yea, of the world, for the number of godly persons (as in scoff they call them) which dwell in it: if God were so righteous and favourable to the godly, would he bend his bow and shoot so many arrows amongst them as he did in the visitation by the plague, whilst he suffered so many notoriously wicked persons to escape? Would he send the fire to consume so many habitations of the godly, whilst the houses of the most vicious and vile were preserved? I shall labour to stop the mouths of such who are ready to open them against the King of heaven, by proposing to consideration these following particulars.

1. "That God's way is sometimes in the sea,

and his paths in the great waters; and his footsteps are not known," Psal. lxxvii. 19. "That his judgments are unsearchable, and his ways past finding out," Rom. xi. 33. And that even then "he is righteous in all his ways, and holy in all his works," Psal. cxlv. 17. "And when clouds and darkness are round about him, righteousness and judgment are the habitation of his throne," Psal. xcvii. 2. And when "his judgments are a great deep, his righteousness is like the great mountains," Psal. xxxvi. 6. We do not understand all the mysteries of nature, neither are we acquainted with all the mysteries of state; and if there be some mysteries in God's way of governing the world, and distributing temporal mercies and judgments, which we do not apprehend in every thing the meaning of, and cannot so fully trace God's righteousness and goodness therein, let us say it is because our eyes are shut, and that we are covered with darkness; therefore let us shut our mouths too, and seal up our lips with silence, not daring in the least to utter any thing which may derogate from these attributes in God, which are as inviolable and unchangeable as his very being: this might be said, if the reason were more abstruse than it is.

2. But secondly, the reason of God's judgments and righteousness therein, with the salve of his goodness towards his own people, may be apprehended, if we consider,

First, that these judgments of plague and fire, are both of them national judgments.

1. The judgment of the plague was national;

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