AN ELEGIE Upon the Truly Worthy, and ever-to-be-remembred Loyal Gentleman, Captain WILL. BEDLOW, ENGLAD's Deliverer, and the Scourge of ROME: Who Departed this Life on the 22 of this instant August; to the great Grief of all True Protestants. With an ACCOUNT of his PIOUS END.
ALas! what sullen Fate has hence convey'd
That Soul once Heaven-Inspir'd, whose Wisdom stay'd
The baleful Mischiefs of Blood thirsty
Rome,
Baffl'd the Tyrannies, revers'd that Doome
Which over us like a black Tempest spread,
Just ready for to break on
Albions head,
And from her Womb ten thousand Murthers shed?
Brave BEDLOW, he, who for his Country bold,
Disdain'd the Traitor's Bribes, and spurn'd at Gold.
His Soul, more Noble still, was bent on good,
Nor could he see Three Kingdoms set in Blood,
But restless till he from far distance came,
The horrid deeds of darkness to proclaime,
Night-brooded secrets, first contriv'd in Hell,
By which the Sacrifice of
Britain fell,
Renowned GODFREY, whose fresh bleeding Wounds
The lowd Alarum to the Nations sounds.
For whilst to stifle Treasons thus they try'd,
They lost their Aims, and Blood for vengeance cry'd
From this low Earth, and reach'd the lofty Skie,
Where his bless'd Soul wav'd in Eternity;
Then was the far renowned Captain sent,
No doubt by him who rules Omnipotent,
Who soon expell'd the gloomy shades wherein
The horrid Crime so late had acted been;
Unmask'd the blood-bedabl'd Traitors all,
Whilst some they fled, the rest did justly fall,
Opening wider yet the fatal PLOT,
Which then by thousands was almost forgot.
New Villanies by him were brought to light,
In such dire shapes as might the world afright;
Such as the cruel
Seythiens blush to own;
Dire Treason, fit for Scarlet-
Rome alone,
And by their
Roman dress were only known.
Thus when they saw all the deep Mines they made
As deeply Countermin'd, their Secrets laid
Open to th' vulgar eyes, and each start back,
Pale with dread horrour at the wondrous tract;
Down to Infernal Regions then they treat,
And would a price with Gold for silence beat;
Set Female-snares our Heroe to intrap,
As
Sampson once was in a Harlots lap:
But his Heroick Soul disdain'd a thing
So mean and base; his care was for his KING
And COUNTRIE's safety: for unto the last
He
Rome defi'd, and did her Treasons blast;
Breath'd Piety, and did abhor her Crimes,
Repenting him seduc'd in former times;
Shedding of Tears that e're he did embrace
The Scarlet Strumpet with a Crimson face,
That sacred blood of Saints and Martyrs dy'd,
Which had been shed to satiate her pride;
Discovering till the utmost gasp of breath,
And more had done, had not the Tyrant Death
Snatch'd hence his Soul, envious we should enjoy
One that would not permit him to destroy
The many hundred thousands, which, had
Rome
Prevail'd, ere this had in a silent Tomb
Lain slumbring till the final Trumpets call,
A prey for Death, to glut his Jaws withal.
Oh Mourn,
Great Britain, since brave BEDLOW'S lost,
And by a raging Feavour hence is toss'd
Up to the Confines of Eternal day,
Among the bless'd for ever there to stay.
He, at the T
[...]errour of whose Name the Pope
Oft trembling stood, amaz'd, and lost his hope;
Whom all his haughty Agents dreaded more,
Than all besides that trod the British shore.
Ours is the loss; whilst they rejoyce, we grieve;
But 'tis in vain, when sorrow can't relieve:
Yet let us not despair, but all submit
To what the wise Eternal God thinks fit:
He, though the worthy Hero's in his Grave,
Can raise up more, the self-same way to save;
Or can by other means defend the Throne
Of our just Monarch, Heavens great Vice-roy known;
Confound their Hellish Malice as at first,
And raise Discovery from brave BEDLOW'S dust.
The EPITAPH.
REader, behold this worthy Herse, and Mourn;
'Tis his, whose Noble Soul did dangers scorn;
His, who to save his Country brav'd proud
Rome,
And all her threats both present and to come.
Grateful for ever be his Memory;
Whilst
ENGLAND's Protestant, he cannot dye:
Though death to Natures debt has now laid claime,
To Everlasting lives his worthy Name.
FINIS.
LONDON: Printed for Langley Curtiss. 1680: ⟨27. Aug.⟩