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

Who shall say, ‘Go help thy friend in battle slain:’

       Then by the counsel of that fair,

       He eagerly will make to flee

       Twenty-six standard of the enemy,

       A rampant lion in silver set, in armour fair,

       Shall help the eagle in that tide,

       When many a knight shall die.

      The bear that hath been long tied to a stake shall shake his chains,

       That every man shall hear, and shall cause much debate.

       The bull and red rose shall stand in strife,

       That shall turn England to much woe,

       And cause many a man to lose his life.

      In a forest stand oaks three,

       Beside a headless cross.

       A well of blood shall run and ree,

       Its cover shall be brass,

       Which shall ne’er appear,

       Till horses’ feet have trod it bare;

       Who wins it will declare,

       The eagle shall so fight that day,

       That ne’er a friend’s from him away.

       A hound without delay shall run the chase far and near.

      The dark dragon shall die in fight.

       A lofty head the bear shall rear,

       The wide wolf so shall light,

       The bridled steed against his enemies will fiercely fight.

      A fleet shall come out of the North,

       Riding on a horse of trees,

       A white hind beareth he,

       And there wreaths so free,

       That day the eagle shall him slay,

       And on a hill set his banner straightway.

       That lion who’s forsaken been and forced to flee,

       Shall hear a woman shrilly say,

       ‘Thy friends are killed on yonder hill,’

       Death to many a knight this day.

       With that the lion bears his banner to a hill,

       Within a forest that’s so plain,

       Beside a headless cross of stone,

       There shall the eagle die that day,

       And the red lion get renown.

       A great battle shall be fought by crowned Kings three;

       One shall die and a bastard Duke will win the day.

       In Sandyford there lies a stone,

       A crowned King shall lose his head on.

      In those dreadful days, five wicked priests’ heads shall be sold for a penny.

       Slaughter shall rage to such a degree,

       And infants left by those that are slain,

       That damsels shall with fear and glee,

       Cry, ‘Mother, mother, I’ve seen a man!’

      Between seven, eight, and nine,

       In England wonders shall be seen.

       Between nine and thirteen

       All sorrow shall be done.

       Then rise up Richard, son of Richard,

       And bless the happy reign,

       Thrice happy he who sees this time to come

       When England shall know rest and peace again.

      End of the Original Prophecies.

THE FOLLOWING PREDICTIONS

       OF

       ROBERT NIXON

       ARE COPIED FROM OLD PAMPHLETS.

       Table of Contents

      The famous Cheshire prophet Nixon, besides his prophecies relative to the fate of private families, also predicted much of public affairs, which we find literally verified by the sequel.

      On the Christmas before he went to court, being among the servants at Mr. Cholmondeley’s house, to the surprise of them all he suddenly started up and said,

      “I must prophecy.” He went on, the favourite [32a] of a King shall be slain. “If the master’s neck shall be cleft in twain. And the men of the North [32b] shall sell precious blood; yea their own blood. And they shall sacrifice a noble warrior [32c] to the idol, and hang up his flesh in the high places; and a storm shall come out of the North, which shall blow down the steeples of the South: and the labourer shall rise above his lord, and the harvest shall in part be trampled down by horses, and the remainder lie waste to be devoured by birds.

      “When an oak tree shall be softer than men’s hearts, then look for better times but they be but beginning.

      “The departure of a great man’s [33a] soul shall trouble a river hard by, and overthrow trees, houses, and estates. From that part of the house from whence the mischief came you must look for the cure. First comes joy, then sorrow; after mirth comes mourning.

      “I see men, women, and children, spotted [33b] like beasts, and their nearest and dearest friends affrighted at them. I see towns on fire, and innocent blood shed; but when men and horses walk upon the water, then shall be peace and plenty to the people, but trouble is preparing for Kings; and the great yellow fruit [33c] shall come over to this country, and flourish: and I see this tree take deep root and spread into a thousand branches, which shall afterwards be at strife one with another, because of their numbers: and there shall come a wind from the South, and the West, which shall shake the tree. I see multitudes of people running to and fro, and talking in a strange tongue. And there shall be a famine [34] in the midst of great plenty, and earthquakes and storms shall level and purify the earth.”

      After these sayings, which every one, with the slightest knowledge of our history will instantly apply to those events which they so wonderfully foretold, Nixon was silent, and relapsed into his wonted stupidity: from which he did not recover until many weeks after, when he became again inspired, and gave vent to those remarkable predictions which were recollected by Mr. Oldmixon. Those which we have just now related were taken down from the prophet’s mouth by the steward, in pursuance of the orders of Mr. Cholmondeley himself; and the original manuscript is now in the hands of a gentleman in Shropshire.

NIXON’S CHESHIRE PROPHECY AT LARGE,

       FROM LADY COWPER’S COPY;

       WITH HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL REMARKS, AND MANY INSTANCES

       WHEREIN IT HAS BEEN FULFILLED.

       Table of Contents

INTRODUCTION.

       Table of Contents

      This remarkable Prophecy has been carefully revised, corrected, and improved; also some account given of our author, Robert Nixon, who was but a kind of idiot, and used to be employed in following the plough. He had lived in some farmers’ families, and was their drudge and their jest.

      At last, Thomas Cholmondeley, of Vale-Royal, Esq., took him into his house, where he lived when he composed this prophecy, which he delivered with as much gravity and solemnity as if he had been an oracle; and it was observed that though the fool was a driveller,