SAd Fate! our valiant Captain Bedloe,
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In Earths cold Bed lyes with his head low:
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Who to his last made out the PLOT,
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And Swearing dy'd upon the Spot.
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Sure Death was Popishly affected,
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She had our Witness else protected:
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Or downright Papist, or the Jade
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A Papist is in Mascarade.
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The Valiant Bedloe, Learned Oates,
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From Popish Knives sav'd all our Throats:
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By such a Sword, and such a Gown
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Soon would the Beast have tumbled down.
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They Conquer like the Hebrew King,
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And Oaths at Rome's Goliah sling:
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And never take God's Name in vain;
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As many Oaths, so many slain.
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The stoutest of the Roman Band
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Could not their thundering Volleys stand;
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But all those Missioners of Hell
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By dint of Affidavit fell.
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Great things our Heroe brought to light;
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Yet greater still kept out of sight:
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And for his King, and Countries sake
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Still new Discoveries could make:
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In proper season to relieve,
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He still kept something in his sleeve;
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He was become for England's good,
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An endless Mine, a wastless flood;
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Still prodigal, yet never poor,
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No spending could exhaust his Store.
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