EBBA 36618
British Library - Thomason Tracts Ballads
Ballad XSLT Template
A PROGNOSTICATION Upon W:LAUD
late bishop of Canterbury written Anno: Dom: 1641: Which accor:
dingly is come to passe
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My little Lord me thinks tis strange
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that you should suffer such a change
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in such a little space
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You that so proudly tother day
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did rule the king & country sway
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must trudge to nother place
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Remember now from whence you came
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and that your grandsiers of your name
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were dressers of old cloth
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Goe bid the dead men bring there shers
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and dresse your coate to save your eares
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or paune your head for both
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The wind shakes cedars that are tall
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an haughtie mind must have a fall
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you are but low I see
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And good it had bin for you still
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If both your body mind and will
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In equall state should bee
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The King by harkening to your charmes
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Hugd our destruction in this armes
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and gates to foes didst ope
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Your staffe would strike his scepter downe
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your mighter would oretop the crowne
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if you should bee a pope
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But you that did so firmly stand
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to bring in popery to this land
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have mist your hellish ayme
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Your saints fall downe your angells fly
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your crosses on yourselfe doe lye
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your crafts will bee your shame
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Wee scorne that popes with Crosier staves
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Miters or keyes should make us slaves
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and to there feete to bend
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The pope and his malicious crew
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wee hope to handle all like you
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and bring them to an end
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The silence clergy void of feare
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in your damnation will have share
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and speake there mind at large
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Your cheskake cap and magpy gowne
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that made such strife in everie towne
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must now defray your charge
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Within this six yeares six Eares have
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bin cropt of worthy men and grave
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for speaking what was true
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But if your subtil head and eares
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Can satisfie those six of ther's
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expect but what's your due
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Poore peaple that have felt your rod
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yeild laud to the devill praise to god
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for freeing them from thrall
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Your little grace for want of grace
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must loose your patriarcall place
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and have no grace at all
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your white lawne sleeves that were the wings
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whereon you soard to lofty thinges
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must be your fins to swim
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Th archbishops sea by thames must goe
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with him unto the tower below
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there to be rackt like him
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your oath cutts deepe your lyes hurt sore
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your cannons made scots cannons rore
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but now I hope youle find
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That there are cannons in the tower
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will quickly batter downe your power
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and sinke your haughty mind
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The cominalty have made a vow
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no oath no cannons to allow
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no bishops common prayer
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No lazy prelates that shall spend
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such greate revenues to no end
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but virtue to impaire
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Dum dogs that wallow in such store
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that would suffice above a score
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pastors of upright will
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Now theyle make all the bishops teach
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and you must in the pulpit preach
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that stands on Tower-hill
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When the yeoung lads to you did come
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you knew there meaning by the drum
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you had better yeilded then
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Your head and body then might have
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One death one buriall and one grave
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by boyes but two by men
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But you that by your judgments cleare
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will make five quarters in a yeare
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and hang them on the gates
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That head shall stand upon the bridge
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When yours shall under traytors trudge
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and smile on your mist fates
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The little ren that soard so high
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thought on his wings away to fly
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like finch I know not whither
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But now the subtil whirly wind
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debauk hath left the bird behind
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you two must flock together;
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A bishops head a debutys brest
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A finches tongue a wren froms nest
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will set the devill on foote
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Hees like to have a dainty dish
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at once both flesh and fowle and fish
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and duck and lambe to boote
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But this I say though your lewd life
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did fill both church and state with strife
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and trample on the crowne
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Like a blest martyre you will dye
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for churches good shee riseth high
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when such as you fall downe
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Sould at the black bull in cornhill neare the Royall exchange
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