[ I ]

                      AN

            ELOGY,

      Againſt Occaſion Requires

                        UPON THE

      Earl of Shaftsbury.

Calculated for the Meridion of Eighty One.

AT the Weſt-End of th' Univerſal Frame,
A Place there lies, which ſome a Land miſ-name
An Excrement of World, call 'd Natures Sinke,
A Maſs of undrain'd mire,quag,bogg,and ſtinke.
Ireland Yclep'd, When th' All-creating WORD
Great Natures Architect, and Orders Lord
From Nothing ſpoke out All, and all around
With Form, Light, Beauty, and perfection Crownd,
This Spot alone ner'e heard th' Almighty ſound
This heap of Undigeſted Earth! a Place,
Which of old Chaos wears th' Original Face!
As if the Out-caſt of the Works of Heaven ;
T had ſcarce one days Creation out of Seven.

This Country's by a ſort of Natives Man'd,
With Braines, as much furniſh'd as their Land;
But yet, what e're they want in Wit and Senſe
Is made up in their TRUTH and INNOCENCE
Such Innocence born in ſo pure an Air,                   
Their very Ground will nought that's Poyſonous bear
Since it was waſht with the laſt Maſſacre.
A Maſſacre, ROME'S Memorable toy le,
Which like the Plague, ftop't by ore-flowing Nile
Purg'd all Envenom'd Locuſts from their ſoyle.

With a full Pack of this untainted Brood,
Is Hunted Sbaftsbury, to Death purſu'd.
                                          A                                    All