AN
ELEGIE
Upon the Truly Worthy, and ever-to-be-remembred Loyal Gentleman,
Captain WILL. BEDLOW,
ENGLADs 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.
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ALas! what sullen Fate has hence conveyd
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That Soul once Heaven-Inspird, whose Wisdom stayd
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The baleful Mischiefs of Blood thirsty Rome,
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Baffld the Tyrannies, reversd that Doome
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Which over us like a black Tempest spread,
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Just ready for to break on Albions head,
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And from her Womb ten thousand Murthers shed?
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Brave BEDLOW, he, who for his Country bold,
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Disdaind the Traitors Bribes, and spurnd at Gold.
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His Soul, more Noble still, was bent on good;
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Nor could he see Three Kingdoms set in Blood,
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But restless till he from far distance came,
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The horrid deeds of darkness to proclaime,
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Night-brooded secrets, first contrivd in Hell,
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By which the Sacrifice of Britain fell,
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Renowned GODFREY, whose fresh bleeding Wounds
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The lowd Alarum to the Nations sounds.
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For whilst to stifle Treasons thus they tryd,
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They lost their Aims, and Blood for vengeance cryd
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From this low Earth, and reachd the lofty Skie,
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Where his blessd Soul wavd in Eternity;
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Then was the far renowned Captain sent,
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No doubt by him who rules Omnipotent,
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Who soon expelld the gloomy shades wherein
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The horrid Crime so late had acted been;
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Unmaskd the blood-bedabld Traitors all,
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Whilst some they fled, the rest did justly fall,
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Opening wider yet the fatal PLOT,
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Which then by thousands was almost forgot.
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New Villanies by him were brought to light,
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In such dire shapes as might the world afright;
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Such as the cruel Scythians blush to own;
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Dire Treason, fit for Scarlet-Rome alone,
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And by their Roman dress were only known.
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Thus when they saw all the deep Mines they made
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As deeply Countermind, their Secrets laid
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Open to th vulgar eyes, and each start back,
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Pale with dread horrour at the wondrous tract;
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Down to Infernal Regions then they treat,
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And would a price with Gold for silence beat;
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Set Female-snares our Heroe to intrap,
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As Sampson once was in a Harlots lap:
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But his Heroick Soul disdaind a thing
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So mean and base; his care was for his KING
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And COUNTRIEs safety: for unto the last
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He Rome defid, and did her Treasons blast;
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Breathd Piety, and did abhor her Crimes,
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Repenting him seducd in former times;
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Shedding of Tears that ere he did embrace
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The Scarlet Strumpet with a Crimson face,
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That sacred blood of Saints and Martyrs dyd,
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Which had been shed to satiate her pride;
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Discovering till the utmost gasp of breath,
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And more had done, had not the Tyrant Death
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Snatchd hence his Soul, envious we should enjoy
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One that would not permit him to destroy
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The many hundred thousands, which, had Rome
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Prevaild, ere this had in a silent Tomb
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Lain slumbring till the final Trumpets call,
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A prey for Death, to glut his Jaws withal.
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Oh Mourn, Great Britain, since brave BEDLOWs lost,
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And by a raging Feavour hence is tossd
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Up to the Confines of Eternal day,
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Among the blessd for ever there to stay.
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He, at the Therrour of whose Name the Pope
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Oft trembling stood, amazd, and lost his hope;
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Whom all his haughty Agents dreaded more,
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Than all besides that trod the British shore.
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Ours is the loss; whilst they rejoyce, we grieve;
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But tis in vain, when sorrow cant relieve:
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Yet let us not despair, but all submit
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To what the wise Eternal God thinks fit:
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He, though the worthy Heros in his Grave,
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Can raise up more, the self-same way to save;
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Or can by other means defend the Throne
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Of our just Monarch, Heavens great Vice-roy known;
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Confound their Hellish Malice as at first,
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And raise Discovery from brave BEDLOWs dust.
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REader, behold this worthy Herse, and Mourn;
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Tis his, whose Noble Soul did dangers scorn;
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His, who to save his Country bravd proud Rome,
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And all her threats both present and to come.
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Grateful for ever be his Memory;
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Whilst ENGLANDs Protestant, he cannot dye:
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Though death to Natures debt has now laid claime,
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To Everlasting lives his worthy Name.
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