%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A PROGNOSTICATION Vpon W: LAVD / late bishop of Canterbury written Ano: Dom: 1641: which accor: / dingly is come to passe. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 06/29/2021 36618

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R210327 My little Lord me thinks tis strange / that you should suffer such a change British Library - Thomason Tracts Editor none none none none Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 10: 18 A PROGNOSTICATION Vpon W: LAVD / late bishop of Canterbury written Ano: Dom: 1641: which accor: / dingly is come to passe. A PROGNOSTICATION Upon W. LAUD late bishop of Canterbury written Anno Dom. 1641: which accordingly is come to pass. ?-?

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction / health alcohol Americas animals / nature Bible / biblical figures buildings / architecture catastrophe children class clothing / appearance country / nation crime death economics / commerce entertainments family Featured folklore gender holidays / seasons infidelity labor / craft law London love maritime marriage military / war monstrosity mythology / Classical news nobility / court politics / government procreation punishment race / ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex / sexuality supernatural / magic travel trickery / deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth / age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 6/29/2021 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 6/29/2021 7:06:08 PM XBallad Henderson, Olivia Created XML Version of Ballad 6/29/2021 7:06:08 PM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/29/2021 7:06:08 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/29/2021 7:06:08 PM Transcriptionist Two Al halabieh, Deena Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/29/2021 7:06:08 PM Transcriptionist One Raychawdhuri, Anita Transcription of ballad manuscript 2/26/2019 Bibliographer Kristen McCants Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
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My little Lord me thinks tis strange that you should suffer such a change in such a little space You that so proudly tother day did rule the king & country sway must trudge to nother place Remember now from whence you came and that your grandsiers of your name were dressers of old cloth Goe bid the dead men bring there shers and dresse your coate to save your eares or paune your head for both The wind shakes cedars that are tall an haughtie mind must have a fall you are but low I see And good it had bin for you still If both your body mind and will In equall state should bee The King by harkening to your charmes Hugd our destruction in this armes and gates to foes didst ope Your staffe would strike his scepter downe your mighter would oretop the crowne if you should bee a pope But you that did so firmly stand to bring in popery to this land have mist your hellish ayme Your saints fall downe your angells fly your crosses on yourselfe doe lye your crafts will bee your shame Wee scorne that popes with Crosier staves Miters or keyes should make us slaves and to there feete to bend The pope and his malicious crew wee hope to handle all like you and bring them to an end The silence clergy void of feare in your damnation will have share and speake there mind at large Your cheskake cap and magpy gowne that made such strife in everie towne must now defray your charge Within this six yeares six Eares have bin cropt of worthy men and grave for speaking what was true But if your subtil head and eares Can satisfie those six of ther's expect but what's your due Poore peaple that have felt your rod yeild laud to the devill praise to god for freeing them from thrall Your little grace for want of grace must loose your patriarcall place and have no grace at all
your white lawne sleeves that were the wings whereon you soard to lofty thinges must be your fins to swim Th archbishops sea by thames must goe with him unto the tower below there to be rackt like him your oath cutts deepe your lyes hurt sore your cannons made scots cannons rore but now I hope youle find That there are cannons in the tower will quickly batter downe your power and sinke your haughty mind The cominalty have made a vow no oath no cannons to allow no bishops common prayer No lazy prelates that shall spend such greate revenues to no end but virtue to impaire Dum dogs that wallow in such store that would suffice above a score pastors of upright will Now theyle make all the bishops teach and you must in the pulpit preach that stands on Tower-hill When the yeoung lads to you did come you knew there meaning by the drum you had better yeilded then Your head and body then might have One death one buriall and one grave by boyes but two by men But you that by your judgments cleare will make five quarters in a yeare and hang them on the gates That head shall stand upon the bridge When yours shall under traytors trudge and smile on your mist fates The little ren that soard so high thought on his wings away to fly like finch I know not whither But now the subtil whirly wind debauk hath left the bird behind you two must flock together; A bishops head a debutys brest A finches tongue a wren froms nest will set the devill on foote Hees like to have a dainty dish at once both flesh and fowle and fish and duck and lambe to boote But this I say though your lewd life did fill both church and state with strife and trample on the crowne Like a blest martyre you will dye for churches good shee riseth high when such as you fall downe
Sould at the black bull in cornhill neare the Royall exchange