Prophecies of Robert Nixon, Mother Shipton, and Martha, the Gypsy. Anonymous

after this shall be happy days,

       A new set of people of virtuous manners shall live in peace.

       But the wall of Vale-Royal near the pond shall be the token of its truth,

       For it shall fall:

       If it fall downwards,

       Then shall the church be sunk for ever:

       But if it fall upwards against a hill,

       Then shall the church and honest men live still.

      Under this wall shall be found the bones of a British King.

       Peckforton-mill shall be removed to Ludington hill,

       And three days blood shall turn Noginshire-mill.

       But beware of a chance to the lord of Oulton,

       Lest he should be hanged at his own door.

      A crow shall sit on the top of Headless cross,

       In the forest so grey,

       And drink of the nobles’ gentle blood so free;

       Twenty hundred horses shall want masters,

       Till their girths shall rot under their bellies.

      Thro’ our own money and our own men,

       Shall a dreadful war begin;

       Between the sickle and the suck,

       All England shall have a pluck;

       And be several times forsworn,

       And put to their wits’ end,

       That it shall not be known, whether to reap their corn,

       Bury their dead, or go to the field to fight.

      A great scarcity of bread corn.

       Foreign nations shall invade England with snow on their helmets,

       And shall bring plague, famine, and murder in the skirts of their garments.

       A great tax will be granted but never gathered.

      Between a rick and two trees,

       A famous battle fought shall be.

      London street shall run with blood

       And at last shall sink,

       So that it shall be fulfilled,

       Lincoln was, London is, and York shall be

       The finest city of the three.

      There will be three gates to London of imprisoned men for cowsters.

       Then if you have three cows, at the first gate fell one, and keep thee at home,

       At the second gate fell the other two, and keep thee at home.

       At the last gate all shall be done.

      When summer in winter shall come,

       And peace is made at every man’s home,

       Then shall be danger of war;

       For tho’ with peace at night the nation ring,

       Men shall rise to war in the morning.

      There will be a winter Council, a careful Christmas, and a bloody Lent.

       In those days there shall be hatred and bloodshed,

       The father against the son, and the son against his father,

       That one may have a house for lifting the latch of the door.

       Landlords shall stand, with hats in their hands,

       To desire tenants to hold their lands.

      Great wars and pressing of soldiers,

       But at last clubs and clouted shoes shall carry the day.

       It will be good in these days for a man to sell his goods, and keep close at home.

       Then forty pounds in hand

       Will be better than forty pounds a year in land.

       The cock of the North shall be made to flee,

       And his feathers be plucked for his pride;

       That he shall almost curse the day that he was born.

      One asked Nixon, where he might be safe in those days? he answered,

       In God’s croft, between the rivers Mersey and Dee.

      Scotland shall stand more or less,

       Till it has brought England to a piteous case.

       The Scots shall rule England one whole year.

       Three years of great wars,

       And in all countries great uproars.

       The first is terrible, the second worse, but the third unbearable.

      Three great battles;

       One at Northumberland-bridge,

       One at Cumberland-bridge,

       And the other the south side of Trent.

       Crows shall drink the blood of many nobles.

       East shall rise against West, and North against South.

      Then take this for good,

       Noginshire-mill shall run with blood,

       And many shall fly down Wanslow-lane.

      A man shall come into England,

       But the son of a king crown’d with thorns

       Shall take from him the victory.

      Many nobles shall fight,

       But a bastard Duke shall win the day,

       And so without delay,

       Set England in a right way.

       A wolf from the East shall right eagerly come,

       On the South side of Sandford, on a grey Monday morn,

       Where groves shall grow upon a green,

       Beside green grey they shall flee

       Into rocks, and many die.

       They shall flee into Salt strand,

       And twenty thousand, without sword, shall die each man.

       The dark dragon over Sudsbrown,

       Shall bring with him a royal band;

      But their lives shall be forlorn,

       His head shall be in Stafford town,

       His tail in Ireland.

       He boldly shall bring his men, thinking to win renown:

       Beside a wall in forest fair he shall be beaten down.

       On Hine’s heath they shall begin this bloody fight,

       And with train’d steed shall hew each others’ helmet bright:

       But who shall win that day no one can tell.

      A Duke out of Denmark shall him dight,

       On a day in England, and make many a lord full low to light,

       And the ladies cry, ‘Well away,’

       And the black fleet with main and might

       Their enemies full boldly their assail.

      In Britain’s land shall be a knight,

       On them shall make a cruel fight,

       A bitter boar with main and might

       Shall bring a royal rout that day.

       There shall die many a worthy knight,

       And be driven into the fields green and grey,

       They shall lose both field and fight.

      The weary eagle shall to an island in the sea retire

       Where leaves and herbs grow fresh and green.