EBBA 32596
Huntington Library - Miscellaneous
Ballad XSLT Template
Our god hath gyven ouer Kynge the victorye
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[?]e Croune
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[?] victorye.
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[?]ge
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[?]on
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[?]ge
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[?]cion
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Our god hath gyven ouer Kynge the victorye
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For under confession thes prestes dothe bynd
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The simple people most earnost of all
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On payne of damnacion to folow their mynde
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And then absolucion for that have they shall
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with all good prayer Ecclesyasticall
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And thus to upholde ther Idolatry
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To most ranke Treason they caused men to fal
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But god hath gyven oure Kynge the victorye.
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The supper of the Lorde ys set forthe truly
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to Come & receave yt they do dysdayne
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they saye yt ys a thinge that came up but newlye
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which shall not Continew ye maye be certayne,
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For we will sure have the masse up agayne
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And god of little myght hanged up on hye
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For whiche they have fowght & manye of them slayne
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Because God gyvethe oure Kynge the victorye.
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And now marke ther madnes whiche here doth ensewe
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The gospell of Christ most sincere and fine
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Lyke most Cruel tirantes they wolde nedes subdew,
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They rent and tore the bokes bothe lefe and line
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They wolde nedes Contynew the Popes owne swyne.
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Cornewell was cruel and cam very fast
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They sayde thay wolde thorow without any pause
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There hartes ware so roted in the popes lawse
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They begane the laste yere when they slew boldye
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All England rejoysethe at their overthrowse
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For only the Lorde is oure Kynges victorye
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They had falce prophites which brought thigs to passe
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Cleane contrary to ther owne expectasion
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Ther hope was for helpe in ther popishe masse
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They wolde nedes have hanged up a reservacion
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The vecare of pomodstoke with his congeracion
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Commanded them to stike to ther Idolatry
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They had muche provicion and great preperacion
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Yet God hath gyven our Kynge the victorye
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They did robe and spoule al the Kynges frendes
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They called them heriteves with spight & disdayne
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They roffled a space lyke tirantes and Findes
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They put some in preson & sume to greate payne
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And sume fled awaie or else they had bene slayne
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As was Wyllam hilling that marter truly
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Whiche they killed at sandford mowre in the playne
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Where yet god hath given oure Kynge the victory
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There harts ware so rot[ed in t]he popes lawse
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They begane the laste yer[e when] they slew bodye
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All England rejoysethe at ther overthrowse.
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For only the Lord is oure Kynges vi[ct]orye
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They had falce prophites which brought thiges to passe
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Cleane contrary to their owne expectasion
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Ther hope was for helpe in ther popishe masse
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They wolde nedes have hanged up a reservacion
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The vecare of pomodstoke with his congeracion
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Commanded them to stike to ther Idolatry
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They had muche provicion and great preperacion
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Yet God hath gyven our Kynge the victorye
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They ded robe and spoule all the Kynges frendes
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They called them heritekes with spight & disdayne
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They roffled a space lyke tirantes and Findes
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They put some in preson & sume to greate payne
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And sume fled awaie or else they had bene slayne
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As was Wyllam hilling that marter truly
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Whiche they killed at sandford mowre in the playne
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where yet god hath given oure Kynge the victory
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They Came to plummowith the Kynges trustty towne
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Yet mothe[?]
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For lyke bou[?]
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some ungent[?]
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And became [?]
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Ho be it god [?]
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This is god[?]
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God grant t[?]
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To praye fo[?]
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They have [?]
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Yet carse is [?]
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As the hart d[?]
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Ther worde [?]
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Wherin god [?]
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The harte of [?]
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Of whom he [?]
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To mynyste[r ?]
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Over all his [?]
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Now Cowa[?]
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Suppressyt[?]
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Wher Fore
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But the Lyv[?]
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For thine tend[?]
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