 | To Rash Iudgement, Tom Foole, and his fellowes |  |
A Clownes Bolt shot.
Oh Neighbour, Neighbour, wee shall all repent,The windie Winter, and the bloody Lent;
The musing Michaelmas, the Christide Spring,
But the white Haruest, is a wandrous thing.
Cowslips at Christmas neighbour, what shalls zay?
I thinke the world will zurely end won day:
For all things is zo arssiuarsie growne,
To that which I my zelfe ha zeene and knowne:
That vor to dy I do not care a pin,
If I had zeene but all my Haruest in:
I did not like Saint Swithens day this yeare,
It was not cloudy, nor it was not cleere:
Zure it rian'd zome where things do vall out crosse,
By Pease and Barly I do veare zome losse:
When we lacke raine, none comes, all's dry like meale:
When we want none, we haue a Plaguy deale.
Thus brutish wretches, sencelesse quoyle do keepe,
As ignorant as are their Hoggs and Sheepe:
Depending vpon old wiues foolish tales,
Neglecting God, whose prouidence neare fayles.
| To Rash Iudgement, Tom Foole, and his fellowes | |