AN
EPITHALAMIUM
UPON THE
MARRIAGE
OF
Capt. William Bedloe.
Ille ego qui quondam gracili modulatus Avena,
Arma virumque Cano.
I, he, who Sung of Humble Oates before,
Now sing a Captain and a Man of WAR.
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GOddess of Rhime, that didst inspire
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The Captain with Poetick fire,
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Adding fresh Lawrells to that brow
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Where those of Victory did grow,
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And statelyer ornaments may flourish now.
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If thou art well recover'd since
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The Excommunicated Prince:
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For that Important Tragedy,
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Would have kill'd any Muse but Thee;
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Hither with speed, oh! hither move,
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Pull buskins off, and since to love
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The ground is holy that you tread in,
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Dance bare-foot at the Captains Wedding.
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See where he comes, and by his side
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His Charming fair Angelick Bride
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Such, or less lovely was the Dame
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So much Renown'd, Fulvia by name,
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With whom of old Tully did joyn,
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Then when his Art did undermine,
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The Horrid Popish Plot of Cateline.
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Oh fairest Nymph of all great Brittain
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(Though thee my Eyes I never set on)
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Blush not on thy great Lord to smile,
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The second Saviour of our Isle;
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What nobler Captain could have led,
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Thee to thy long'd-for marriage bed:
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For know that thy all-daring Will is
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As stout a Hero as Achilles;
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And as great things for thee has done,
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As Palmerin or th' Knight of th' Sun,
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And is himself a whole Romance alone.
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Let conscious Flanders speak, and be,
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The Witness of his Chivalry.
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Yet that's not all, his very word
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Has slain as many as his sword:
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Though common Bulleys with their Oat[hs]
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Hurt little till they come to blows,
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Yet all his Mouth-Granadoes kill
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And save the pains of drawing steel.
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This Hero thy resistless charms
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Have won to fly into thy arms,
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[F]or think not any mean design
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Or the inglorious itch of coyne,
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[C]ould ever have his breast contrould,
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Or make him be a slave to Gold;
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[H]is Love's as freely given to Thee
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[A]s to the King his Loyalty.
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[T]hen oh receive thy mighty prize
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With open arms and wishing eyes,
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[K]isse that dear face where may be seen
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[H]is worth and parts that sculk within,
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[T]hat face that justly stil'd may be
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[A]s true a Discoverer as He.
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[T]hink not he ever false will prove,
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[H]is well known truth secures his love,
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[D]o you awhile divert his cares
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[F]rom his important grand affairs:
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[L]et him have respite now a while
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[F]rom kindling the mad rabbles zeal.
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[Z]eal that is hot as fire, yet dark and blind
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[S]hews plainly where its birth-place we may finde,
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[In] hell, where tho' dire flames forever glow
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[Ye]t 'tis the place of utter darkness too.
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But to his bed be sure be true
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As he to all the World and you,
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He all your plots will else betray
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All ye She-Machiavills can lay.
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He all designs you know has found,
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Tho hatch'd in Hell, or under ground;
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Oft to the world such secrets shew
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As scarce the Plotters themselves knew,
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Yet if by chance you hap to sin
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And love while Honour's napping shou'[d] creep in
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Yet be discreet and do not boast
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Oth' treason by the common post.
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So shalt thou still make him love on
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All virtues in Discretion.
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So thou with him shalt shine, and be
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As great a Patriot as He;
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And when, as now in Christmass all
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For a new pack of Cards do call,
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Another Popish Pack comes out
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To please the Cits, and charm the rout;
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Thou mighty Queen shal't a whole Su[it]
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Command,
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A Crown upon thy Head, and Sceptre [in]
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thy Hand.
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