THE
French Monstrous BEAST,
Which Devours all before it; Overthrowing Houses and devouring
Fryers alive, the sight of which frightned Lewis into a
Confession of his Evils.
Tune of Liggan Water. Licensed according to Order
|
HEre's strange Tydings which I bring,
|
From proud Lewis the French King,
|
The which is of late come o'er,
|
The like was never heard before.
|
There's a strange and Monstrous Beast,
|
Thirty foot in length at least;
|
Thousands wonder at the same,
|
But no one knows from whence it came.
|
His Eyes like flaming Fire burns,
|
Out of his Throat he likewise turns
|
A foul and noisome stinking Breath,
|
Which e'ery where does threaten Death.
|
The form and fashion of his Head,
|
Do's fill them all with fear and dread;
|
His very voice does thousands feare,
|
He roars like Thunder in the Air.
|
His Back more hard than Brass is found,
|
No Sword or Spear can pierce or wound,
|
Neither can Bullets enter in
|
His horny-Hide, that hardn'd skin.
|
His long and curled knotty Tail,
|
He swings it like a Thrasher's Flayl,
|
That when he strikes a sturdy Oak,
|
He splits it with a single stroak.
|
The Monster ranges up and down,
|
Through many Cities, Court and Town,
|
And do's their Houses overthrow,
|
In e'ery place where he do's go.
|
From place to place he roves each day,
|
The Fryars do become his Prey;
|
And they alas! his Fury feel,
|
He eats a Dozen at a Meal.
|
Sometimes he eats sixteen of them,
|
To satisfie their hungry Wem;
|
The Rogues were never so annoy'd,
|
For fear they should be all destroy'd.
|
Marlow that famous City then,
|
The like there was not one in ten;
|
Which cost Ten Hundred Thousand Pound,
|
This Beast has Levell'd to the ground.
|
The Monks and well-fed Fryars they,
|
In sad Confusion, ran away;
|
And as before the Beast they fly,
|
Where shall we hide our selves? they cry.
|
His Welsh Highness was frightn'd too,
|
This Monstrous Beast did him pursue,
|
And all that did attend his Train,
|
Did run for fear they should be slain.
|
Fryars made their sad Complaints
|
Unto their Virgin and their Saints,
|
To mitigate their slavish fear,
|
But yet the Rogues were ne'er the near.
|
For why? the fury of the Beast,
|
Against the Fryars so increa'd;
|
The News was then to Lewis brought,
|
What sad Destruction it had wrought.
|
He did upon a Tower stand,
|
And took his Spying-Glass in hand,
|
This mighty Monster to behold,
|
Of which such dismal things was told.
|
When Lewis he the same beheld,
|
His very Heart with Grief was fill'd;
|
This is a dreadful sight, said he,
|
My Friends, what will become of me?
|
'Tis said his very Heart did fail,
|
His Visage also waxed pale;
|
Straightways he fell dow in a sound,
|
For troops of fear did him surround.
|
His Senses did return again,
|
Oh then he cry'd! I fear my Reign
|
It is but short, this do's presage,
|
France ruin'd in this present Age.
|
The Articles which I have broke,
|
Will bring on me a Fatal Stroke,
|
For which alas! I blame my self,
|
As being known a perjur'd Elf.
|
|
|
|
|
|