Loyal poems and satyrs upon the times since the beginning of the Salamanca plot written by several hands ; collected by M.T.

SHAFTSBURYS FAREWELL OR The Association,

GReatest of Men, yet Mans least friend farewell, VVits mightiest but most useless Miracle. VVhere Nature all her Richest Treasures stor'd, To make one vast unprofitable Hoard. So high as thine no Orb of fire cou'd rowl, The Brightest, yet the most Excenticle Soul; VVhom midst wealth, Honour, Fame, yet want of Ease, No power cou'd e're oblige, no state cou'd please. Be in thy grave with peaceful slumbers blest, And find thy whole Life's only stranger, REST. Oh Sh—ry had thy prodigious Mind Been to thy self and thy great Master kind. Glory had wanted Lungs thy Toomb to blow, And Pyramids had been a Tomb too low. Oh that the VVorld (Great statesmen) e're shou'd see Nebucadnezzars Dream fullfill'd in thee! Whilst such low Paths led thy great Soul away, Thy Head of Gold mov'd but on Feet of Clay. Yes, from Rebellions late Inhumane Rage, The Crimes and Chaos of that Monstrous Age.

As the old Patriarch from Sodom Flew, So to great CHARLES his Sacred Bosom Thou; But oh? with more then Lots Wifes fatal Fault, For which she stood in Monumental salt. Tho' the Black scene thy hasting Footstep flyes, Thy Soul turns back and looks with longing eyes. Oh restless Peer! that the Records of same Shou'd give Erothratus and Thee one name. Great was his bold Atchievment, Greater Thine, Greater as Kings then Shrines are more Divine. Greater as Vaster Toils it did Require To' inflame three Kingdoms, that one Temple fire. But where are all those blustering storms Retir'd, That roar'd so loud when Oliver Expir'd? Storms that rent Oaks, and Rocks asunder broke, And at his Exequies in Thunder Spoke? Was there less Cause when thy last doom was given To waken all the Revellers of Heaven? Or did there want in Beligias humble Soil, A Cedar fit to fall thy Funerall pile? No: Die, and Heaven th' Expence of Thunder save, Husk'd as thy own designs down to Thy Grave. So husk'd may all the portents of the sky With thee our last great Comets Influence Die. May this one stroke our lowring Tempests Clear, And all the Fiery Trigon finish here. With thee Expire the Democratick Gall, Thy Sepulchre and Lethe swallow all.

Here ends the Poison of that Viperous Brood, And make thy Urn like Moses wond'rous Rod, So may our Breaches close in thy one Grave, Till Sh—ry's last breath three Nations save. And Dying thus t'avert his Countrys Doom, Go with more Fame then Curtius to his Tomb. But is he Dead! How! cruel Belgia say! Lodg'd in thy Arms, yet make so short a stay! Ungrateful Country, Barbarous Holland shoar, Cou'd the Batavian Climat do no more! Her Sh—ry's dear Life no longer save! What a Republick Air! And yet so quick a Grave! Oh! all ye scatter'd Sons of Titan Weep, This Dismal day with solemn Mourning keep, Like Israels Moulten Calf your Medall burn, And into Tears your great Laetemur Turn. Oh! wail in dust to think how Fates dire frown, Has Thrown your dear Herculean Column down. Oh! Charon waft thy load of Mischiefs o're, And land him sasly on the Stygian shore. At his Approach James loudest Trumpet call, Cromwell, Cook, Ireton, Bradshaw, Hewson, all, From all the Courts below, each well pleas'd Ghost, All the Republick Legions, Numerous Host, Swarm thick to see your mighty Hero Land, Crow'd up the shoar and blacken all the Strand; And, what e're Chance on Earth, or Powers accurst, Broke all your Bands, your holy Leagues all burst, This union of the SAINTS no storm shall sever, This last ASSOCIATION holds for ever.