❧ The Plagues of Northomberland.
To the tune of Appelles.
WHen that the Moone, in Northomberland,
After the chaynge, in age well conne,
Did rise with force, then to with stande,
The lyght and bright beames of the Sonne
The sorowfull dolers soone began,
Through Percies pryde to many a man.
But then a none the Westmere Bull,
Behelde the rysinge of this Moone,
Thinking that shee had byn at full,
He hastyd then a none full soone,
With horse, and Armes, and all his might,
From parfect daye, to vncertaine lyght.
When they in one, consent were pyght,
With them was many an ignorant man,
The Romyshe Lawes, they wold redyght
Through councell of some blind Syr Iohn,
Who neuer knewe godes veryte,
But to Rebellion then dyd a gree.
For if they would of gods word knowen.
Longe. xxx. yeres they haue had tyme,
Rebellion then had not byn sowen,
To brynge ther countre in such cryme,
Their poyson now, all men may see,
That vnder Suger longe did lie.
¶ What myschyfe mouid the Persies hart,
This enterpryse to take in hand,
This for to playe a Rebelles parte,
In raisinge vp Northomberland,
But looke what seede, by hym is sowen,
With sharp sythes downe it was soone mowen.
¶ That countre is, in full sore plyght,
That doth a gaynst their Prynce contend,
Seeking their owne dreames to redyght,
The Popes precepts for to defend,
Lyke brutyshe peruerst ignorant men,
That seekes before a lawe to ten.
¶ This venym longe a breedinge was
Which in the Persies breste did growe,
The Bull in bellinge did not ceasse,
Till that the poyson oute did flowe
So farr a broade the streames did ronne,
That backe a gayne cold not retourne.
¶ This hatefull poyson longe was hyde,
Under the cloake of amytie,
The outward Treasone was not spyde,
But couerid with all courtesie,
Their close vnlawfull conspitacion,
Hath brought them to great dysolacion.
¶ The hope vnsure was transytorye,
The which was in that clowdy Moone,
Her false eclypes with all the glorye,
Her ioye vnstable was endid soone
Her sudden chaynge now tells vs all,
That Suger sweet was blent with Gall.
¶ What state now maye hym selfe assure,
Longe here to lyue in quyetnes,
What worldely toye maye here in dure,
In those where is no stablenes,
Wher Lords, and Yerles, in welth doth flowe
From their hye state must fall downe lowe.
¶ Now by their fall learne to be wyse,
Both hye and lowe in eche degree,
Let no false lyght deceaue your eyes,
As it hath done of late you see.
The false beames of the glystringe Moone,
Now many a man it hath vndoone.
¶ For in the north the did shine longe,
But now eclypsyd is her lyght,
The Westmere Bull that held so stronge,
Hee is depreuyd of his myght,
For many tongs of them will tell,
How these to Yerles false did Rebell.
And many a man more as I heare,
That with these Rebelles did take part,
Which can not thinke them selues now cleare
That in brest beares a doble hart,
But as you haue be gonne to brewe,
So are you found Rebelles vntrue.
¶ The countre cleane you haue vndone,
The Lord graunt thersome better staye,
Or els will many a mothers sonne,
For this cursse you a nother daye,
You leaue your wyues and childrene deare,
Lamentinge in most wofull cheare.
¶ Now let vs praye as we are bound,
All for our Queenes hyghe maieste,
That shee her enemies may confound,
And all that to Rebelles agre,
And plant true men vp in their place,
The Lord from heauen now gyue her grace.
Finis.
ꝙ. Iohn Barker,
¶ Imprinted at London in Fleetestreate beneath the Conduyt, at the signe of saint, Iohn Euangelist, by Thomas Colwell.