<!DOCTYPE ETS PUBLIC "-//UMDLPS//DTD EEBOPROOF 2.0//EN">
<ETS>
<TEMPHEAD>
<REVDESCR>
<CHANGE>
<DATE>2012-08-01</DATE>
<RESPSTMT>
<NAME>Pip Willcox</NAME>
<RESP>MURP</RESP>
</RESPSTMT>
<ITEM>Proofed and reviewed as part of batch Z120612.pdcc.</ITEM>
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<EEBO>
<IDG S="marc" R="OX" ID="A26660">
<STC T="W">A923</STC>
<STC T="C">R9251</STC>
<BIBNO T="oclc">12713645</BIBNO>
<VID>66128</VID>
</IDG>
<TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<PB REF="1">
<PB N="1" REF="1" MS="y">
<HEAD>Algernoon Sidneys FAREWEL.</HEAD>
<LG>
<L>WElcome, kind Death, my long tired Spirit bear,</L>
<L>From hated Monarchies dete&s;ted Air:</L>
<L>And Waft me &s;afe to th' happier <HI>Stygian</HI> Land,</L>
<L>Where my dear Friends with flaming Chaplets &s;tand:</L>
<L>And Seat me high at <HI>Shaftsburys</HI> Right Hand.</L>
<L>There Wor&s;hipping, my Pro&s;trate Soul &s;hall fall:</L>
<L>Oh! for a Temple, Statues, Altars, all.</L>
<L>Volumes, and Leaves of Bra&s;s; whole Books of Fame!</L>
<L>For all are due to that immortal Name.</L>
<L>For my Reception then, great Shades, make room,</L>
<L>For <HI>SIDNEY</HI> does with Loads of Honour come.</L>
<L>No braver Champion, nor a bolder Son</L>
<L>Of Thunder, ever grac'd your burning Throne.</L>
<L>Survey me, mighty Prince of Darkne&s;s, round:</L>
<L>View my Hack'd Limbs, each honourable Wound.</L>
<L>The Pride and Glory of my numerous Scars</L>
<L>In Hell's be&s;t Cau&s;e the old republick Wars.</L>
<L>Behold the rich Grey Heirs your <HI>SIDNEY</HI> brings,</L>
<L>Made Silver all in the Pur&s;uit of Kings,</L>
<L>Think of the Royal Martyr, and behold</L>
<L>This bold Right Hand, This Cyclops Arm of Old,</L>
<L>That labour'd long, &s;tood Blood and Wars rough &s;hock</L>
<L>To Forge the Ax, and Hew the fatal Block.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Nor &s;topt we here; our dear Revenge &s;till kept,</L>
<L>A Spark that in the Fathers A&s;hes &s;lept,</L>
<L>To break as fiercely in a &s;econd Flame,</L>
<L>Again&s;t the Son, the Heir, the Race, the Name.</L>
<L>Revenge is God-like, of that deathle&s;s Mold,</L>
<L>From Generation does to Generation hold.</L>
<L>Let dull Religion and Sophi&s;tick Rules</L>
<L>Of Chri&s;tian Ignorants, Con&s;ciencious Fools,</L>
<L>With fal&s;e Alarms of Heavens forbidding Laws,</L>
<L>Bla&s;t the Renown of our Illu&s;trious Cau&s;e:</L>
<L>A Cau&s;e, (what e're dull Preaching Dotards prate)</L>
<L>Who&s;e only Fault was being unfortunate.</L>
<PB N="2" REF="2" MS="y">
<L>Oh the ble&s;t Structure! Oh the charming Toyle!</L>
<L>Had not Heav'ns Envy cru&s;ht the ri&s;ing Pile,</L>
<L>To what Prodigious Heights had we built on!</L>
<L>So Babells Tower had <HI>Solomons</HI> Church out-&s;hone.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>True! my unhappy Blood's untimely &s;pilt;</L>
<L>And &s;ome &s;oft Fools may tremble at the Guilt.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>As if the poor Vice-gerent of a God</L>
<L>Were that big Name that our Ambition awd.</L>
<L>A poor Crown'd Head, and Heav'ns Anointed! No!</L>
<L>We &s;top at nought that Souls re&s;olved dare do.</L>
<L>And only cur&s;e the Weak and Failing Blow.</L>
<L>Whil&s;t like the Roman <HI>Scaevola</HI> we &s;tand,</L>
<L>And Burn the <HI>Mi&s;&s;ing</HI> not the <HI>Acting</HI> Hand.</L>
<L>Nay the great Work of Ruin to fullfill</L>
<L>All Arts, all Means, all Hands are Sacred &s;till.</L>
<L>No Play too foul to win the Glorious Game:</L>
<L>Witne&s;s the great Immortal <HI>Teckleys</HI> Fame.</L>
<L>In holy Warrs 'tis all <HI>True Prote&s;tant</HI></L>
<L>Kings to dethrone, and Empires to &s;upplant.</L>
<L>Nay and the Antichri&s;tian THRONE to &s;hake,</L>
<L>Cur&s;t Monarchy, 'tis Famous even to make</L>
<L>The <HI>Alcoran</HI> the <HI>Bibles</HI> Cau&s;e a&s;&s;ume:</L>
<L>And <HI>Mahomet</HI> the Prop of <HI>Chri&s;tendom.</HI></L>
<L>Such Aid &s;uch Helps &s;ublime Rebellion wants,</L>
<L>Rebellion the great <HI>Shibboleth</HI> of Saints;</L>
<L>Which current &s;tamp to <HI>Reformation</HI> brings.</L>
<L>For all is [GOD with US] that &s;trikes at Kings.</L>
<L>Now <HI>Charon,</HI> Land me on th' Ely&s;ian Coa&s;t,</L>
<L>With all the Rites of a De&s;cending Gho&s;t.</L>
<L>A Stouter, Hardier Murmurer ne're fell</L>
<L>Since the old Days of Stiff-neckt <HI>I&s;rael:</HI></L>
<L>Since the cleft Earth in her expanded Womb</L>
<L>Oped a Broad Gulph for Mighty <HI>Corahs</HI> Tomb.</L>
<L>Methinks I &s;aw him, &s;aw the yawning Deep.</L>
<L>Oh! 'twas a Bold De&s;cent, a wondrous Leap!</L>
<L>More &s;wift the pointed Lightning never fell.</L>
<L>One plunge at once t' his Death, his Grave, his Hell.</L>
</LG>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
<BACK>
<DIV1 TYPE="colophon">
<P>London, <HI>Printed for</HI> W. Davis <HI>in</HI> Amen-Corner.</P>
<PB REF="2" MS="y">
</DIV1>
</BACK>
</TEXT>
</EEBO>
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