A NEWE BALLADE INTITULED, AGAYNST
Rebellious and false Rumours. To the newe tune of the
Blacke Almaine, upon Scissillia.
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WHat Rumores now are raised of late
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Within this English lande:
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Which is not much for to be praysed
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The case so harde doth stand,
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For everyone doth talke,
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There tongues contrary walke,
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And semes to meddell, of this and that,
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There babling tongues, so large doth chatte,
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As foolishe fancye, moves them saye,
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So out there foolish talke they braye.
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And everyone doth besie him still,
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About the thing he hath no skill.
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Some of his neighbors doth inquire,
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What newes abrode there is:
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If that he anythinge doth here,
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Of those that dyd amisse.
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Some longeth to here tell,
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Of those that dyd Rebell,
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And whether they be fled or take,
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Thus still inquirie they do make,
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Some sayth to Scotland they be goe,
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And other sayth it is not so,
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The Rumerous Devell is now abrode,
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Which makes them so to laye on lode.
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Some sayth this yeare there shal be hapte,
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Much trouble in the lande:
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Of Prophesies they carpe and clappe,
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As they that have them skande.
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Doth tell them so abrode,
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And thus they laye on lode:
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And filles the peoples eares with lyes,
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Thus Rumor still abrode he flyes.
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Which makes them now in such a rore,
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As all true hartes may well deplore.
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And praye to God if that he please,
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These foolish Rumores once maye cease.
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And let us nowe applye our tyme,
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In prayer to the Lorde:
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That he may cease this furious cryme,
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That now is blowne abrode.
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And everyone to staye,
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His tongue and nothing saye:
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But of the thinges he hath in hand,
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And see his besynes well be scand?
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And not to meddle of Princes actes,
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What they will do nor of there factes,
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If occupied, well we thus abyde:
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The Lorde for us will well provide.
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For surely Plagues we do desarve,
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Most horrable and great:
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Because from God we still do swarve.,
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And dayly doth him frette.
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And still provoke his Jeare,
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Which glous as hotte as fyare:
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His Bow is now all redye bent,
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Therfore in tyme let us repent,
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Least be for sinne do us deprive,
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Forwarned folkes they saye may live?
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And warning take by other men,
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Which we before our eyes have sene.
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We have hard in Fraunce the Rumur there
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That hath bene many a daye:
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There countrey spoyled in Ruth and feare,
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Unto there cleane decaye.
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With losse of many a man,
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Since first that sturre began:
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And many a Noble hath bene slayne,
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A Duke, and eake a Prince certayne.
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Which weare the chiefe stayes of that land,
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Wherfore in hazarde now they stande,
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For where the chiefe are taken awaye,
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The rest must nedes runne to decaye.
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In what estate doth Souldiers stand,
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Great ruth it is to here:
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That there is wrought the Tirants hand
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We nede not to declare.
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Experiaunce well may showe,
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What numbers here doth flowe.
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Of Flemminges fled from Tirantes hand,
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Which dayly commeth to this land:
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Whose harts in wrathfull long hath boyld
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And eake there Countrye cleane dispoyld.
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Which thing may warne us well I saye
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Least that we feele the lyke decaye.
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The Lorde hath suffered us full longe,
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And spared hath his rodde:
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What peace hath bene us now among,
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Aleven yeares praysed be God.
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And round about us hath,
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Bene warre and cruell fayth,
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And all to cause us to repent,
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For we desarve worsse punnishment,
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Then any of these Landes have done,
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I feare we shall be plagud right sone,
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Thy Judgement sure our God hath had,
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To plague the good still for the bad.
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Wherefore let us with one accorde,
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Fall all to fast ond praye:
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And Pardon crave now of the Lorde,
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To kepe us from decaye.
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And leave this murmoring spight,
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Which God doth not delight:
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The Scripture playnely doth declare,
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The Isralites they plagued weare:
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Because the murmered at there God,
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Therin we do desarve lyke rod.
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With hartes devoute now let us praye,
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To kepe this Realme from all decaye.
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