%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> Poor Robin's wonderful Vision: / Or, Englands Warning=piece. / Being many strange and miraculous Observations, the like not known in any Age. 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 05/23/2021 37415

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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

R181950 2 Sawny will ne'r be my Love again Sawney Will Never Be My Love Again Sawny Will Ne'r Be My Love Again to the same Tune Sawney Will Never Be My Love Again To the Same Tune WHen drousie Orbs did begin to appear, / & nights sable Curtains drew the scean; Dreadful methought those Monsters shew'd, / upon whose fronts the fates seem'd to dwell; who vex'd the Nation, and made it complain. [with variation] by reason of which the Nations complain. Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 70 Poor Robin's wonderful Vision: / Or, Englands Warning=piece. / Being many strange and miraculous Observations, the like not known in any Age. Poor Robin's wonderful Vision: Or, England's Warning piece. Being many strange and miraculous Observations, the like not known in any Age. ?-? P. Brooksby

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<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Poor Robin's wonderful Vision:</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left">Or, Englands Warning-piece.</seg> <lb/> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Being many strange and miraculous Observations, the like not known in any Age.</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the Tune of, Sawny <hi rend="bold">will ne'r be my Love again.</hi></hi></seg>
WHen drousie Orbs did begin to appear, & nights sable Curtains drew the scean; And nodding Somnus seem'd to draw near, charm'd into slumber, I dream'd this Dream: Methoughts from the North a Crimson Cloud Rose, in the which a numerous croud Of worse then Aegyptian-locus did shroud, who vex'd the Nation, and made it complain. To whom from the East a scrole was brought, sign'd by the Tripple-headed fire of Fate, The which with instructions was amply fraught, how to undermine both Church and State: Horrors and Deaths within were inscrib'd, Without dismal stratagems contriv'd, To teach how for Murders & Poysoning to bribe, which alas makes the Nation sore complain. The Scarlet Beasts Pyoneers were set, to undermine the Kingdoms peace; To lay on their Crimes a counterfeit, and make the tumultuous Rumours cease:
Whilst they to set us in flames thought good, And after to quench it with a Flood, Drawn from the sluces of Protestant Blood: which alas makes the Nation to complain. Methoughts I beheld an Eagle, whose eyes darted Majestick rays of light; Whom the Vulters strove to surprize, coveting Lustre that shone so bright: But all the Agents mistook the Deed, Instead of C.S. they had Decreed, They seiz'd on E.G. and made him to bleed, which alas makes the Nation to complain. Their Nets they had so slyly laid, to catch the Royal Eagle in; Were by an O. in season bewray'd, e're Hell had the Commission gin: Their Consistory where they did fit In Counsel, was the Bottomless Pit, From whose damn'd Rage we are not quit, and that's the cause that the Land complains. Tho' twice methought in the Briny Flood, the Pledge of promis'd safety lav'd; Yet there may still be thirst of blood, unless Jehovah's mercy save: So we that were almost, may be undone, And by their force be hurryed on, To worship the Whore of Babylon, for fear of which the Nation complains. Tho' from G.W. we are freed, and though he left his wages behind; Yet there may be more of the cursed breed, no doubt Hell and Rome can his equal find: Who for that Sum will ambitions be, To act a part in their Treachery, And never start at Iniquity, the which is the cause that the Land [complains.]
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The second part, to the same Tune.</hi></seg>
Dreadful methought those Monsters shew'd, upon whose fronts the fates seem'd to dwell; With Murders, Treasons, & slaughters imbrew'd which noted them the Springs of Hell: Whose minds are always on mischief bent, And surely they'r those that Scripture meant, Whom Satan to scourge the Kingdoms sent, by reason of which the Nations complain. Much like their Sire are all their train, that bald-Pated Priest that's Fatted in Rome, Who over Thieves and Harlots does reign, and yet does disturb civil Nations at home: Sending them out from his dire aboad, Whom he with dread Injuctions does load, Biding them fear neither Man nor God, the which makes the Nations sore complain. So that to all sorts of mischiefs they'r prone, infernal Counsels attend on their wills, A Prince is not safe if they eye but his Throne, for Bazilick like Death attends on them still: They'r made up of Murder, Rapin, and spite, Who only in Treason and blood do delight, And care not but at Massacres to fight, which alas makes the Nations to complain. In Darkness they hide their willing heads, lest Day should unrevel their black Crimes, And those that they have on Destruction lead, should start from their snare and repent in time: Wherefore they'r Hud-wink'd & made to believe, When they'r in Hell they can give 'um a reprieve And thus they the simple with fallacies deceive, the which makes the Nations to complain. Therefore let England be warn'd by my Dream, and purge her self of so dangerous a Pest, If she her welfare and Peace do esteem, and would for the future have Plenty and rest: Let her quickly order them all to Rome, And if after that to stay they presume, Let the Triangle point out their Doom, and then the Nations will cease to complain.
FINIS. Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-ball, near the Hospital-gate, in West-Smithfield.