ENGLAND'S OBLIGATION To Captain WILLIAM BEDLOWE, the grand Discoverer of this most Horrid.  
THE World is all on Fire in Jesus Name,  
By quick nosed Jesuits, who hunt for Game,  
Whose hidden subtle Souls in Malice burn,  
To ruin mighty Nations, and to turn  
Their Cities into Ashes, cut the Strings  
Of all Societies, to murder Kings  
And Kingdoms at one blow: O Wicked Seed!  
Such Monsters Africa never yet did breed;  
The Tiger on the Tiger will not pray,  
But these Religious ones have found the way  
To feed on their own kind, with a new Trick  
To rid the World of every Heretic:  
(For so these Mountebanks do style all those  
Who, hunting counter to their chase, Oppose  
Their tall Ambition) they slaughter all  
Who to these mighty Monarches will not fall.  
But now, Brave BEDLOWE! how had I forgot  
Thy Name? a grand Discoverer of their PLOT:  
An Instrument in Great JEHOVA'S Hand,  
To save the King, and his Besieged Land:  
Had not this Providence dropped on our Shore,  
Magna Britania, now, had been no more;  
Our Throats had all been cut, we clearly see,  
If Gold or Silver could have tempted thee:  
☞ Full Sixty Thousand Guinneys proffered were,  
If thou woulds fly from hence, and not appear  
To vindicate a CAUSE so Nobly Good,  
And save three Kingdoms from a Sea of Blood:  
A Ship, to boot, was proffered to thy hand,  
To carry thee to the securest Land.  
Brave Godfrey's pale Ghost yet doth cry aloud,  
King CHARLES designed for Slaughter in the Crowd:  
Our Noblest Cities into Ashes burned,  
Three Wealthy Nations topsy-turvy turned:  
The Inhabitants all marching out of doors,  
Planted by People worse than Turks or Moors:  
England no longer England, now, but ah!  
Styled by a new Name, Terra Incognita.  
As once the Britain's, which we Welsh-men call,  
Were by the Saxons turned out of all;  
A Lamentable Story, which may grieve us,  
When there's no Wales nor Cornwall to relieve us.  
We had been th● Hunter's prey, the World's laughter,  
Had not brave BEDLOWE saved us from th● slaughter:  
Five years thou wert their Slave to set us free,  
To sound the Depth of all their Policy;  
They Mine, and thou didst Countermine as fast,  
To blow them and their Plots up at one Blast.  
Like a Physician, that is always sure,  
Thou didst not use thy Remedies for Cure,  
Till the Disease grew ripe, then from thy sconce,  
They and their Fireworks were blown up at once:  
A Pill so bitter to the Vulgar sight,  
The Plotters and their Plots were brought to Light,  
Forced and compelled by thy ingenious Art,  
To Vomit up the Poison of their Heart.  
And had not Providence thus stopped the Flood,  
ENGLAND had swum in her own Scarlet Blood.  
Accursed Cain, why dost thou wear black,  
Thy Brother Abel's Garment on thy back?  
We find thee, when that we have measured right,  
To be a Judas not a Jesuit.  
The Name without the Nature is a Gull,  
Be like our JESUS he was Merciful:  
His Love appears how much he did esteem us,  
He killed none, was killed to Redeem us:  
Being imped with Cherubin and Angel's Wing,  
Would he have killed a Godfrey or a King.  
But there be some would have it now forgot,  
There was a Godfrey killed; nor any Plot:  
So impudent in Lies, with perjured Breath,  
They do deny the Plot and Godfrey's Death.  
As those of Old, which we may still remember,  
Would Cancel clean the fifth day of November.  
Into our Calendar, let us advance,  
The Murder of brave Henry King of France.  
Let France and Savoy Curse the Jesuits train,  
Three hundred thousand were in Ireland slain.  
All Bonds of sacred Friendship you'll untie,  
Oath of Allegiance and Supremacy.  
You take, untake, neither God nor Man you fear,  
What you have Sworn, the next hour you'll Unswear  
Unto the Test, with double mind you stand,  
You have a Pardon ready to your hand.  
These are the Men, brave BEDLOWE! who unjust  
Would trample down thy Honour in the Dust;  
That by their Hocuspocus Tricks, in fine,  
Thy Testimony they may undermine.  
When did the Apostles teach; pray Read their Sto●●  
That killing Kings was the next way to Glory:  
David, the next Successor was appointed,  
Durst not lay hands on Saul, the Lords Anointed.  
But you, what in the World was never known,  
Have framed a New Gospel of your own.  
And being mounted on Ambition's Wings,  
Would fly aloft to Heaven by kill Kings.  
And had not Bedlow's hand came to deliver,  
Our Noble Prince had fallen asleep for ever.   

AN ANACROSTICK.  

What Blessed hand directed thee to pry  
Into the Jesuits subtle Policy?  
Let Wisdom that did set thee in the Path,  
Limit our Foes, and bind their Boundless Wrath.  
I wish that their Repentance truly may,  
Answer the Mischief of this fatal day.  
May they that unadvisedly did climb,   

Be truly sorrowful for their foul Crime,  
Erect their humble minds to Heavenly things,  
Dash all their future hopes of kill Kings:  
Lend them a melting Heart filled full of Terror,  
Open their eyes that they may see their Error  
Wisdom that tames the raging of the Seas,  
End all our Difference in Love and Peace.    

London, Printed by Th. Dawks, His Majesty's British 〈…〉 Blue Anchor 〈◊〉 the West-End of 〈…〉