Y: The baker of Pudding Lane

I am the baker of Pudding Lane fame
My shop is in ruins as well as my name
I can't get away from it, try as I might
I am the man who set London alight.

I used to be known for my wonderful bread
The best in the city some people have said
Now they call me a fool and a careless old sloven
For the sake of a loaf left too long in the oven.

The day had been busy and I was worn out
Myself and the dough had been flying about
So I went to bed early, forgetting the tin
In the oven for supper, still cooking within.

A few hours later I suddenly woke
To the screams of my wife who was starting to choke
The room was so hot that we thought we would roast
If we didn't leave quickly we'd end up as toast!

We climbed out of the window and down to the street
With the flames almost licking the soles of our feet
And we stood and we stared in our bedroom attire
As we witnessed the spread of the terrible fire.

Then up came my neighbour who had also now fled
And I started to tremble as soon as he said:
'I don't want you to panic or cry out for pity
But it looks like your bloomer might burn down the City!'

When it was all over we climbed for a view
To the top of a hill and we saw it was true
Just one loaf of bread had started the blaze
Which had brought to an end the old city's days.

Some say that it also got rid of the plague
But if I'm asked my story I try to be vague
For what I did wrong is so hard to put right
Because I was the man who set London alight.