The Somersetshire Wonder, Or.
Late Dreadful Judgments which hath hapened upon the Fami-
ly of Mr. Pope, of Wotton, near Glastenbury in the said Country.
To the Tune of, the Bleeding heart.
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GOOD People all that round about me stand,
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Pray mind the strange afflictions in this Land,
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Such wonders scarce before has ever been,
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In Somersetshire at Wotten they are seen.
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One Mr. Pope, who did at Wotten dwell,
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Near Glastenbury, where thousands can tell,
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The dismal fate which lately did befall,
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Upon the farmer by distroying all.
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Now to begin, if you the truth would know,
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One Sunday Mr. Pope to Church did go,
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his only Son at home he left behind,
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who was to play and other things inclin'd.
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During Church time this Lad did run about,
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Looking for Hens nest and to find Eggs out,
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For to boyl Eggs it was his main desire,
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When he came in three Eggs were on the fire.
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one of the same he took and straight did eat,
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Which quickly put the Lad into a sweat,
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And quickly fell to vomiting strange things,
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As bits of Glass, stump Nails and crooked Pins.
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A Pear stuch full of Thorns brought up likewise,
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And now like one bewitch'd this young Man lies,
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The Fatther laid the other two Eggs by,
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Which chang'd to Nails and Glass immediately.
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Besides this great misfortune there does fall,
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Out stranger Wonders still among them all,
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A Neighbouring Woman happen'd to be there
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Who saw this lad depriv'd of all his hair.
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Tho neither hand nor Sizzars could she see,
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Yet this lad's hair was clip'd immediately.
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And plainly seen to move out of the room,
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So with the fright she fell into a swound.
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There's other strange and various wonders more,
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Stones Day and Night are thrown within the Door,
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And the Windows which the Glass doth break,
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With streaks of blood would make ones heart to ake
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Some stones are cold, and other stones are hot,
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They're crost with blood but Heavens knows not what,
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They rise out of the Ground and nought is seen,
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To touch them, yet they swiftly do fly in.
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And if they take these stones and throw them out,
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They straigit rebound and make a fearful rout,
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And when the troubled did degin to cease,
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Then more vexatious plagues came on apace.
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For in the Orchard, there the Apple Trees,
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Vhere split from top to bottom with great eass,
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As to ones sight, for one could scarce turn round,
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But they were split and tumbled to the Ground.
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And while the Son by the Fire-side did read,
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Straight up the chimmney something pull'd with speed
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The father and the servant scarce I say,
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Could hold the son from being drawn away.
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And when the Doors were shut and bolted too,
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they would burst open without more to do,
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Nay locks nor Bars could no ways them secure,
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Tho nothing seen yet open flys a Door.
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None of the Family at night can rest
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But each with some affliction sore opprest,
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Sometimes the cords are cut and down they fall,
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Sometimes out of the Beds too they are hall'd.
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A Parson near to Wotton coming in,
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Receiv'd a deadly blow yet nothing se'en.
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to strik, so strange these stories are and true,
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their Reaping Hooks twisted like to a screw.
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the Son when in a fit did thus delrae,
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Oh Fatuher, of your house take special care,
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Or this same Night by fire 'twill be consum'd,
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Your house and Barns will be burnt to the Gound.
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If nothing this Night, ith Morning it will be,
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therefore now in the Barn go search and see,
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the Father and a Servant straightways sought,
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And from the Barn they lighted touchwood brount.
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For all their care and diligence that Nigt,
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Their Barn next Morning was in fire light,
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which quckly to the Dwelling house did blow,
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And that by fire was consum'd also.
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the Farmer to another house i'th Town,
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Did go to Dwell when his own was burt down,
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And as the Son sat by the side,
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Out of his Breeches flames of Fire fly'd.
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The Family with all that they could strive,
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Had much ado to save the Boy alive,
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And since this both his Wheat Mows & his Hay,
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By Flames of Fire are consum'd away.
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Some Neighbours helping to remove the Wheat,
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The very Sheaves which they remov'd did sweat,
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With Crimson blood the Ears run truckling down
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Some on their Cloath and likewise on the Ground.
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Thus stall and Oxen, Barns, and Houses there,
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Fy fatal Fire, come from, none knows where,
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Have been consum'd and what amuses more,
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Blood often dropped at the very Door.
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And thus these dreadful Judgments still go on,
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Altho the Man alass is quite undone,
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Yet day nor Night he cannot quiet be,
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Oh, Heavens, Mercy send in Misery
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