Newes from Northumberland This geare goythe well and better it shall, For triall will tell, the Treson of Ball.
|
YOu whisperinge fellowes, that walke everywheare
|
now clau your old elbowes, & skratch up your heaer
|
I will tell ye for troth, what newes I heare,
|
the Bull of the Northe is a frayd of the Bear
|
This geare goethe well and Better it shall,
|
For triall will tell, the Treson of Ball.
|
The Moone and the Ster, are fallen so at stryfe,
|
I never knewe warre, so strange in my lyfe,
|
And all is longe of a Babylon Beaste,
|
that hath a thowsand heddes, at the leaste.
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
What made the Murrians hed so stoute,
|
to seeke the sheaffe of Arroes oute,
|
A Morryon of that hed, the Northe maie saie
|
that hed from the boddye must needes awaie.
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
The Lambe that knewe this newes before,
|
did bid the Lyon begin to rore,
|
The Lion that coulde not then refraine,
|
did byd the Beare go shake his chayne.
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
Whose shakinge suche a shryll did yelde,
|
that every Beast did flye the feelde,
|
Which served and shadowid under the Moone,
|
and thowght full littell to shrinke so soone.
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
And to Sainte Androwe, be they gone,
|
with very harde shyfte to make theare moane,
|
And som of theare Ladies lefte behinde,
|
with very small wages under the wynde.
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
But I marvell yet, of Ser John Shorne,
|
whether he and the blessed Masse be borne,
|
It weare a mery thinge to be knowen,
|
wheare he doth make his Alter stone.
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
The Cropyerde Fox, that this begon,
|
and made this brablinge to be don,
|
Is curst of many a mothers sonne,
|
and I praye ye what hath his coraige wonne,
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
Yet when this newes shall come to Roome,
|
I knowe they will not sticke to presume,
|
To wright to many Cristian Kings,
|
they have as they woulde al maner of things,
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
Why walke ye not by three and three,
|
in Polles as ye weare wonte to bee,
|
And saye as you were wont to do,
|
I hold you a crowne it is not trewe.
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
Of manie great helpes you bragge and bost,
|
besydes sir John that carieth the hooste,
|
Lyke unbelevers as you bee,
|
you bragge of nothinge that you see.
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
You bragge not of the almighties name,
|
you bragge not of your Princes fame,
|
You bragge of never a faithfull knight,
|
that for his contrey goeth to fight.
|
This heare goythe well. etc.
|
You bragge to see your countrey spoylde,
|
you bragge to see poore men begilde,
|
You bragge to see your brothers blood,
|
I pray tell me if these be good.
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
And as ye are of perverst minde,
|
you swere and stare and wil be blinde,
|
Wher in ye shew that faithlesse ye,
|
Have no good power to here and see.
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
Where be the Northen idiotes fled,
|
that were by your devises led.
|
They had bin better they had kept their bed,
|
you can not repeale that you have spred.
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
I thinke by this you do beleve,
|
the Devill himselfe laughes in his sleeve
|
That yet so many of Balahams markes,
|
are still his trewe and faithfull clarkes.
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
And to be short I see and knowe,
|
howe manie a one themselves bestowe,
|
I accuse no one I tell ye trewe,
|
but ye wil be knowne I imust tell you,
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
And thinke in tyme that error is,
|
the cause of all that is a misse,
|
God of his mercie mend thease dayes,
|
and her preserve that seekes the waies.
|
This geare goythe well. etc.
|
|
|
|
|
|