%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> An ELEGY / On the Right Honourable / Anthony Earl of Shaftsbury, / Who dyed on the 21st. of January, 1683. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1683-1683 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 06/22/2014 33084

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R221182 THe Busie Statesmen who by Toyls unblest, / Torment themselves to give their Country Rest, Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 361 An ELEGY / On the Right Honourable / Anthony Earl of Shaftsbury, / Who dyed on the 21st. of January, 1683. An ELEGY On the Right Honourable Anthony Earl of Shaftsbury, Who dyed on the 21st. of January, 1683. An ELEGY On the Right Honorable Anthony Earl of Shaftsbury, Who died on the 21st. of January, 1683. 1683-1683

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 6/22/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America death nobility/ court politics/ government religious groups Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 6/22/2014 1:53:18 PM XBallad Chow, Jeremy Created XML Version of Ballad 6/22/2014 1:53:18 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/22/2014 1:53:18 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/22/2014 1:53:18 PM Transcriptionist Two Pedersen, Emily Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/22/2014 1:53:18 PM Transcriptionist One Ortiz Mazariegos, Jennifer Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/21/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/18/2014 Checker Charlotte Becker Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/29/2012 Checker Olivia Miller Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/29/2012 Checker Olivia Miller Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/23/2012 Bibliographer Olivia Miller Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 10/23/2012 Checker Olivia Miller Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">An ELEGY</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">On the Right Honourable</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Anthony Earl of Shaftsbury,</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Who dyed on the 21<hi rend="bold">st.</hi> of <hi rend="bold">January,</hi> 1683.</hi></seg>
THe Busie Statesmen who by Toyls unblest, Torment themselves to give their Country Rest, Those publick Great First movers of the State, Who almost turn the Mighty Wheels of Fate, Roul the vast Stone like Sysyphus in vain; Whilst Deaths last Call ends a whole Ages Pain. The Graves long Rubicon must all pass o're, Whence launching Caesars can return no more. Farewell, Great Shaftsbury! Times Sythe can stretch Where Malice, Sword, and Axes ne'er could reach. Thy Life, great Statesman, stood in Fate so high, That thou by nought but Heav'ns own Hand couldst die. Yes, Heaven alone compiles thy Funeral-Urn: Less than the Sun the Phoenix shall not burn. What did wise Solon, or Lycurgus do? Lycurgus dy'd, like Thee, an Exile too. And whilst proud Belgia thy Bones Entombs, And triumps at the Glory it assumes, Belgia, who in thy Fate has now done more Than all her Trumps or Opdams could before. Belgia has vanquisht more in thy one Grave, Than all the Wounds her Thunder ever gave. Sleep then thou Activ'st of Mankind: Oh make Thy last low Bed, and Deaths long Requiem take; Thou who whilst living kept'st the World awake. Oh may thy Funeral-Rites walk that large round, Till to thy Western-shore thy loss resound; Till Carolina shall in Mourning stand, With all the Cypress of a Widow'd Land. Let Fools and Knaves through their false Opticks find Thy Spots, and be to all thy Brightness blind. Let Envy all her monstrous Forms suggest, And lodge the Raven in the Eagles Nest. Let 'em rail on, and vent their hurtless Gall, Whilst Shaftsburys Renown surmounts 'em all. From his clear Fame the dissolv'd Clouds shall throw, And leave the Earthly Vapours all below. Yes, Mighty Man, lay thy great Reliques down, Thou Idol of the Croud, Dread of the Crown; Shaftsbury in popular Arts and Harts so learn'd As with his Weight the Scale of Nations turn'd: To him the Kingdoms Genius bended low; The Thrones best Friend, or formidablest Foe. If the best Gifts which the kind Stars dispense, The highest Prodigies of Wit and Sense, For Immortality Foundations lay; No Greater Soul e're lodg'd in Walls of Clay. Swiftly his restless Orb of Fire went round, And light and warmth we from his Influence found. His kindest Rays and temperater Heat The Protestants still-favour'd Climates met: There his best Aspect smil'd; whilst Rome alone Felt all the Fury of his Torrid Zone. This was the Cause did such great Foes engage With such keen Malice, and such Mortal Rage. For this so high the Roman Vengance boyls With Fires more hot that their old Smithfield-piles. But Heavens kind Call has all their Engines crost, Heav'n that has lodg'd thee on that safer Coast, Whence thou look'st down and seest thy Mighty Hunters lost. EPITAPH. UNder this Stone does Sleeping lye All that was Earth of Shaftsbury. But Funeral-Tears and Weeping Eyes Infallibillity denies. Whilst his wish'd Death's enough to be The Subject of a Jubilee. A more sworn Foe to Roman Pride Not Hannibal himself e're dy'd. For which his Deathless Fame below, His Soul above --- His Soul --- Ah, no! From Heav'n's lock'd out too sure, if they Who succeed Peter keep the Key. Doom'd to Hells hottest burning Seat, If the Popes Curse can do the Feat. If Papal Rage and Roman Spight For any but themselves Hell-fire can light.
LONDON, Printed Anno Domini, MDCLXXXIII.