Page:Whole prophecies of Scotland, England, Ireland, France & Denmark.pdf/24

24 My wild wanton will, and my miſdeeds,

I may know of all woe, and my weird alas!

Becauſe of my ſin, that I ſerved ever.

Hath his ſorrow and this ſight ſent unto me,

By trouble of my kin, that I am of come,

Hath me turned into this care, and careful me made;

That I have no hope of help ſo help me our Lord,

While he that put me in grief once grace ſend,

Frain thou no further of my foot likes.

Of other works, as I wate, aſk if thou likes:

Thine ettling thou aſk may, for anſwer I shall,

In woods and wilderneſs, where my way lies,

That I heark'ned and heard; I height to thee to ſay,

Then frowned I fiercely of this frivole world:

What to be of war, if he wiſt ought?

Or who should weild us in this world, that ſorrow drees

To give us of good will, and get us to peace?

If there is fruits in this world, that ſo much worth is?

Should have fuſion on force, and any fair after?

And then he looked to the ground, and wept all a while

And he groaned for grief, weeping he ſaid,

Much anger and evil hath this iſle choſen

All through o'greed and theft, and Elvines Knight,

Brutas thy bairntime has much bail choſen,

Since firſt in Britain to leind thou was brought;

Sickneſs and ſorrow, and oreneſs ſet with yth,

When thou ſembled to the ſea, under ail ſound:

Noraway hath neddered them, and to need brought:

That hath newed their names, and named themſelves,

English that are eaſtfood, and Edryons bairns,

But all the anger that they make, their own shall be,

That Weſtmoorland, woeful may thee betide,

For thou with war and thy wrong bairns,

When thou mels with the Mers and mixed with the ſame

Much malice and miſchief thou made for thyſelf.

Bairns and banners thou brought upon loft,

With burning and bail hath wrought ſorrow;

Carliſle thy captains hath much woe wrought:

Thou shalt compelled be with care, thou thinks it but little,

Thou shalt thy gates yarn, thou yarns not thereafter;

Thou shalt yalmur and yell that all York shall it hear:

Then the town shall be tint trow thou not elſe;

Thy tops and thy turnats tumbled to the ground,

No falſe fortune o fell has thee at feed,