Against this imputation, Dr. Partridge
hath vindicated himself in his almanack for that year.
For a farther vindication of this famous art, I have thought fit
to present the world with the following prophecy. The original is
said to be of the famous Merlin, who lived about a thousand years
ago; and the following translation is two hundred years old, for
it seems to be written near the end of Henry the Seventh's reign.
I found it in an old edition of Merlin's Prophecies, imprinted at
London by John Hawkins in the year 1530, page 39. I set it down
word for word in the old orthography, and shall take leave to
subjoin a few explanatory notes.
Seven and Ten addyd to Nyne,
Of Fraunce her Woe this is the Sygne,
Tamys Rivere twys y-frozen,
Walke sans wetyng Shoes ne Hozen.
Then comyth foorthe, ich understonde,
From Town of Stoffe to farryn Londe,
An herdye Chyftan, woe the Morne
To Fraunce, that evere he was born.
Than shall the fyshe beweyle his Bosse;
Nor shall grin Berrys make up the Losse.
Yonge Symnele shall again miscarrye:
And Norways Pryd again shall marrye.
And from the tree where Blosums feele,
Ripe Fruit shall come, and all is wele,
Reaums shall daunce Honde in Honde,
And it shall be merrye in old Inglonde,
Then old Inglonde shall be no more,
And no man shall be sorre therefore.
Geryon shall have three Hedes agayne,
Till Hapsburge makyth them but twayne.
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