%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> FUNERAL TEARS / Upon the Death / OF / Captain William Bedloe. Duke, Richard University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1680-1680 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 02/29/2016 34599

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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

R40384 SAd Fate! our valiant Captain Bedloe, / In Earths cold Bed lyes with his head low: Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 1 FUNERAL TEARS / Upon the Death / OF / Captain William Bedloe. FUNERAL TEARS Upon the Death OF Captain William Bedloe. FUNERAL TEARS Upon the Death OF Captain William Bedloe. Duke, Richard 1680-1680

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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 2/29/2016 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America country/ nation death politics/ government religious groups Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 2/29/2016 7:21:28 PM XBallad King, Joyce Created XML Version of Ballad 2/29/2016 7:21:28 PM Transcription Supervisor Palmer, Megan Transcription of ballad manuscript 2/29/2016 7:21:28 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Bell, Erik Transcription of ballad manuscript 2/29/2016 7:21:28 PM Transcriptionist Two Ward, Jayne Transcription of ballad manuscript 2/29/2016 7:21:28 PM Transcriptionist One Rice, Sarah Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/4/2015 Checker Kristen McCants Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 2/8/2016 Checker Katie Adkison Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/2/2015 Checker Jayne Ward Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/30/2014 Bibliographer Kristen McCants Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
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SAd Fate! our valiant Captain Bedloe, In Earths cold Bed lyes with his head low: Who to his last made out the PLOT, And Swearing dy'd upon the Spot. Sure Death was Popishly affected, She had our Witness else protected: Or downright Papist, or the Jade A Papist is in Mascarade. The Valiant Bedloe, Learned Oates, From Popish Knives sav'd all our Throats: By such a Sword, and such a Gown Soon would the Beast have tumbled down. They Conquer like the Hebrew King, And Oaths at Rome's Goliah sling: And never take God's Name in vain; As many Oaths, so many slain. The stoutest of the Roman Band Could not their thundering Volleys stand; But all those Missioners of Hell By dint of Affidavit fell. Great things our Heroe brought to light; Yet greater still kept out of sight: And for his King, and Countries sake Still new Discoveries could make: In proper season to relieve, He still kept something in his sleeve; He was become for England's good, An endless Mine, a wastless flood; Still prodigal, yet never poor, No spending could exhaust his Store.
But Death, alas! that Popish Fiend, To all our hopes has put an end; Has stop'd the Course, and dry'd the Spring Which new Plot-tidings still would bring. This Witness (did the Fates so please) Had sworn us into Happiness; Made the Court chast, Religion pure; And wrought an Universal Cure; Sworn Westminster into good Order, Reform'd Chief-Justice, and Recorder: The Land from Romish Locusts purg'd, And from Whitehal the Chits had scourg'd Had judg'd the great Succession-Case, And sworn the Crown to the right place. England! The mighty loss bemoan! Thy watchful Sentinel is gone. Now may the Pilgrims land from Spain, And undiscover'd cross the Main. Now may the Forty Thousand Men In Popish Arms be rais'd agen; Black Bills may fly about our ears; Who shall secure us from our Fears? Jesuits may fall to their old sport Of Burning, Slaying Town and Court, And we never the wiser for't. Then pitty us; Exert thy Power To save us in this dangerous Hour. Thou hast to Death Sworn many men, Ah! Swear thy self to Life agen.