Shaftsbury's farewell: OR, The New Association▪  

GReatest of Men, yet Mans least Friend, farewell;  
Wits Mightiest, but most Useless, Miracle;  
Where Nature all her Richest Treasures stored,  
To make one vast unprofitable Hoard:  
So High as Thine no Orb of Fire could roll,  
The Brightest, yet the most eccentric Soul;  
Whom' midst Wealth, Honours, famed, yet want of ease,  
No power could e'r oblige, no State could please;  
Be in thy Grave with peaceful Slumbers blessed,  
And find Thy whole life only Stranger, REST.  
Oh, Sh— y! had thy prodigious Mind  
Been to thyself, and Thy Great Master kind,  
Glory had wanted Lungs Thy Trump to blow,  
And Pyramids had been a Tomb too low.  
Oh that the World( Great States-man) e'r should see  
Nebuchadnezzar's Dream fulfilled in Thee!  
while▪ st such low Paths lead Thy Great Soul astray,  
Thy Head of Gold moved but on Feet of day.  
Yes, from Rebellions late inhuman 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 than Lots Wifes fatal Fault,  
For which she stood in Monumental Salt.  
Though the Black Scene Thy hasting Foot-step flies,  
Thy Soul turns back, and looks with longing Eyes.  
Ah, Noble Peer, that the Records of famed  
Should give Erostratus and Thee One Name;  
Great was his bold achievement, Greater Thine,  
Greater, as Kings than Shrines are more Divine;  
Greater, as vaster Toils it did require  
T'inflame Three Kingdoms, than One Temple fire,   

But where are all those blust'ring Storms retired,  
That roared so loud when Oliver expired?  
Storms that rent Oaks, and Rocks asunder broken,  
And at his Exequies in Thunder spoken.  
Was there less cause, when Thy last Doom was given,  
To waken all the jewellers of Heaven?  
Or did there want in Belgia's humble Soil  
A Cedar fit to fall Thy Funeral-pile?  
No; Die, and heaven th' expense of Thunder save,  
hushed as Thy own Designs, down to Thy Grave.  
So hushed, may all the Portents of the sky  
With Thee, our last great Comets Influence die:  
May this One Stroke our low'ring Tempests clear,  
And all the fiery Trigon finish here.  
With Thee expire the Democratick gull;  
Thy Sepulchre and Lethe swallow all:  
Here end the poison of that viprous Brood,  
And make Thy Urn like Moses wondrous Rod;  
So may Our Breaches close in Thy One Grave,  
Till Sh— y's last Breath Three Nations save;  
And dying thus, t' avert His Countreys Doom,  
Go with more famed than Curtius to His Tomb.   

But is He dead! How! Cruel Belgia, say!  
lodged in thy Arms, yet make so short a Stay!  
Ungrateful country! Barbarous Holland shore!  
could the Batavian Climate do no more!  
Her S— 's dear Life no longer save!  
What? a republic Air, and yet so quick a Grave!  
Oh! all ye scattered Sons of Titan weep,  
This dismal day with solemn Mournings keep;  
Like Israels Molten-Calf your MEDALS 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 Honour o'er,  
And land Him safely on the Stygian shore:  
At His Approach, Fames loudest Trumpet call  
cronwell, Cook, Ireton, Bradshaw, Hewson, all,  
From all the Courts below, each well-pleased Ghost,  
All the republic Legions numerous Host,  
Swarm thick, to see your Mighty hero land,  
Crowd up the shore, and blacken all the Strand;  
And, whate'r Chance on Earth, or powers accursed,  
broken all your Bonds, your Holy Leagues all burst:  
This Union of the SAINTS no Storm shall sever,  
This Last ASSOCIATION holds for ever.    

London, Printed, and are to be sold by Walter Davis, 1683.