The Plagues of Northomberland.
To the tune of Appelles.
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WHen that the Moone, in Northomberland,
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After the chaynge, in age well conne,
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Did rise with force, then to withstande,
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The lyght and bright beames of the Sonne
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The sorowfull dolers soone began,
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Through Percies pryde to many a man.
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But then anone the Westmere Bull,
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Behelde the rysinge of this Moone,
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Thinking that shee had byn at full,
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He hastyd then anone full soone,
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With horse, and Armes, and all his might,
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From parfect daye, to uncertaine lyght.
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When they in one, consent were pyght,
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With them was many an ignorant man,
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The Romyshe Lawes, they wold redyght
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Through councell of some blind Syr John,
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Who never knewe godes veryte,
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But to Rebellion then dyd agree.
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For if they would of gods word knowen,
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Longe .xxx. yeres they have had tyme,
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Rebellion then had not byn sowen,
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To brynge ther countre in such cryme,
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Their poyson now, all men may see,
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That under Suger longe did lie.
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What myschyfe movid the Persies hart,
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This enterpryse to take in hand,
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This for to playe a Rebelles parte,
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In raisinge up Northomberland,
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But looke what seede, by hym is sowen,
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With sharp sythes downe it was soone mowen.
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That countre is, in full sore plyght,
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That doth agaynst their Prynce contend,
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Seeking their owne dreames to redyght,
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The Popes precepts for to defend,
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Lyke brutyshe perverst ignorant men,
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That seekes before a lawe to ren.
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This venym longe a breedinge was
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Which in the Persies breste did growe,
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The Bull in bellinge did not ceasse,
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Till that the poyson oute did flowe
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So farr abroade the streames did ronne,
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That backe agayne cold not retourne.
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This hatefull poyson longe was hyde,
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Under the cloake of amytie,
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The outward Treasone was not spyde,
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But coverid with all courtesie,
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Their close unlawfull conspiracion,
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Hath brought them to great dysolacion.
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The hope unsure was transytorye,
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The which was in that clowdy Moone,
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Her false eclypes with all the glorye,
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Her joye unstable was endid soone
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Her sudden chaynge now tells us all,
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That Suger sweet was blent with Gall.
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What state now may hymselfe assure,
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Longe here to lyve in quyetnes,
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What worldely joye maye here indure,
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In those where is no stablenes,
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Wher Lords, and Yerles, in welth doth flowe
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From their hye state must fall downe lowe.
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Now by their fall learne to be wyse,
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Both hye and lowe in eche degree,
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Let no false lyght deceave your eyes,
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As it hath done of late you see.
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The false beames of the glystringe Moone,
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Now many a man it hath undoone.
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For in the north she did shine longe,
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But now eclypsyd is her lyght,
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The Westmere Bull that held so stronge,
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Hee is deprevyd of his myght,
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For many tongs of them will tell,
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How these to Yerles false did Rebell.
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And many a man more as I heare,
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That with these Rebelles did take part,
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Which cannot thinke themselves now cleare
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That in brest beares a doble hart,
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But as you have begonne to brewe,
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So are you found Rebelles untrue.
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The countre cleane you have undone,
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The Lord graunt ther some better staye,
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Or els will many a mothers sonne,
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For this cursse you another daye,
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You leave your wyves and childrene deare,
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Lamentinge in most wofull cheare.
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Now let us praye as we are bound,
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All for our Queenes hyghe majeste,
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That shee her enemies may confound,
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And all that to Rebelles agre,
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And plant true men up in their place,
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The Lord from heaven now gyve her grace.
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