The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Merlin's Prophecy
MERLIN'S PROPHECY. 1709.
SEVEN and ten, addyd to nine,
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 towne of stoffe to fattyn londe,
An hardie chyftan, woe the morne,
To Fraunce that evere he was born.
Then shall the fyshe beweyle his bosse:
Nor shall grin berrys make up the losse.
Yonge Symnele shall again miscarrye:
And Norway's 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 olde Inglonde,
Then old Inglonde shall be no more,
And no man shall be sorie therefore.
Geryon shall have three hedes agayne,
Till Hapsburge makyth them but twayne.