







 
   
     
       
         O yes, o yes, I do cry, the bishops bridle will you buy
         Mill, Tom.
      
       
         
           1639
        
      
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         A07543
         STC 17923
         ESTC S122302
         99857454
         99857454
         23195
         
           
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         (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A07543)
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             O yes, o yes, I do cry, the bishops bridle will you buy
             Mill, Tom.
          
           1 sheet ([1] p.)
           
             s.n.,
             [Pomadie :
             1639]
          
           
             Publication date from STC.
             Verse - "Since bishops first began to ride".
             At foot: Composed by Tom (A.S.) Mill and mee, and printed new at Pomadie.
             Reproduction of the original in the British Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Church of England -- Humor -- Early works to 1800.
           Political ballads and songs -- Early works to 1800.
           Political satire, English -- Early works to 1800.
           Great Britain -- Church history -- 17th century -- Early works to 1800.
        
      
    
     
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             O
             YES
             ,
             O
             YES
             ,
             I
             DO
             CRY
             ,
          
           
             THE
             BISHOPS
             BRIDLES
             WILL
             YOU
             BUY
             .
          
        
         
           
             SInce
             Bishops
             first
             began
             to
             ride
          
           
             in
             state
             ,
             so
             neare
             the
             Crown
             ,
          
           
             They
             have
             been
             aye
             puft
             up
             with
             pride
             ,
          
           
             and
             rode
             with
             great
             renown
             :
          
           
             But
             GOD
             hath
             pull'd
             these
             Prelats
             down
             ,
          
           
             in
             spight
             of
             Spain
             and
             Pope
             ;
          
           
             So
             shall
             their
             next
             Ecclipse
             be
             soon
          
           
             in
             England
             seen
             I
             hope
             .
          
        
         
           
             They
             thought
             their
             Saddles
             had
             been
             sure
             ,
          
           
             when
             they
             began
             to
             sit
             ,
          
           
             They
             did
             not
             care
             for
             Church
             ,
             nor
             Cure
             ,
          
           
             their
             Grandure
             was
             so
             great
             :
          
           
             Their
             Curpals
             was
             so
             
               closely
               knit
            
             ,
          
           
             they
             would
             not
             take
             a
             tie
             ;
          
           
             Their
             Bridle
             bare
             so
             strong
             a
             bit
             ,
          
           
             
               great
               marvaile
            
             't
             was
             to
             see
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Snaffles
             serv'd
             them
             ,
             I
             have
             seen
             ,
          
           
             they
             rode
             not
             farre
             abroad
             :
          
           
             First
             from
             a
             Doctor
             to
             a
             Deane
             ,
          
           
             they
             bare
             the
             Bishops
             rod.
          
           
             They
             car'd
             not
             for
             contempt
             of
             GOD
             ,
          
           
             nor
             Church
             ,
             nor
             Common-weale
             ,
          
           
             That
             all
             this
             Land
             was
             overlode
             ,
          
           
             while
             fortune
             turn'd
             their
             wheele
             .
          
        
         
           
             Their
             Snaffles
             shortly
             they
             forsook
             ,
          
           
             for
             weaknesse
             to
             command
             ,
          
           
             And
             then
             a
             Thrawner-bit
             they
             took
             ,
          
           
             for
             to
             o'rthrow
             the
             Land
             :
          
           
             They
             never
             spar'd
             us
             spurre
             nor
             wand
             ,
          
           
             which
             long
             we
             did
             indure
             ;
          
           
             They
             held
             not
             right
             the
             Bridle-hand
             ,
          
           
             their
             Saddles
             were
             not
             sure
             .
          
        
         
           
             And
             then
             a
             Chaunter-bit
             they
             choos'd
             ,
          
           
             as
             Chauncellour
             of
             estate
             ,
          
           
             That
             none
             before
             ,
             but
             one
             had
             us'd
             ,
          
           
             which
             broke
             on
             Striveling
             gate
             :
          
           
             They
             did
             for
             
               dignitie
               debate
            
             ,
          
           
             for
             none
             durst
             them
             controule
             ,
          
           
             They
             would
             be
             Temporall
             lords
             of
             late
             ,
          
           
             which
             they
             may
             now
             condole
             .
          
        
         
           
             Then
             for
             a
             French-bit
             long'd
             they
             fast
             ,
          
           
             which
             
               curb'd
               proud
            
             Curfour
             kinde
             ,
          
           
             Which
             they
             from
             Lambeth
             got
             at
             last
             ,
          
           
             it
             was
             the
             Popes
             propine
             ;
          
           
             And
             mounted
             them
             so
             to
             their
             mind
             ,
          
           
             in
             all
             their
             
               riding
               geare
            
             :
          
           
             But
             then
             began
             they
             to
             decline
             ,
          
           
             and
             built
             up
             Babel
             here
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             now
             that
             Bit
             their
             best
             delight
             ,
          
           
             is
             broken
             with
             the
             rest
             :
          
           
             And
             so
             their
             Horse
             have
             cast
             them
             quite
             ,
          
           
             which
             cannot
             be
             redrest
             .
          
           
             The
             Gallowes-bit
             would
             bide
             them
             best
             ,
          
           
             if
             Reines
             they
             be
             not
             rotten
             ;
          
           
             The
             Saints
             of
             GOD
             whom
             they
             supprest
             ,
          
           
             this
             
               glorious
               day
            
             have
             gotten
             .
          
        
         
           
             Since
             they
             their
             horse
             and
             harnesse
             Sold
             ,
          
           
             come
             buy
             their
             Bridles
             here
             ,
          
           
             That
             afterwards
             it
             may
             be
             told
             ,
          
           
             who
             bought
             their
             Riding-geere
             .
          
           
             For
             this
             hath
             been
             a
             fatall
             yeare
             ,
          
           
             for
             Prelates
             in
             this
             part
             ,
          
           
             Then
             let
             these
             Romish
             Rogues
             retire
             ,
          
           
             and
             seek
             some
             other
             art
             .
          
        
         
           
             Let
             NOVA
             SCOTIA
             keep
             them
             now
             ,
          
           
             they
             'r
             fittest
             for
             that
             place
             ,
          
           
             For
             GOD
             and
             Man
             ,
             could
             not
             alow
          
           
             to
             spare
             them
             longer
             space
             .
          
           
             Their
             dignities
             brought
             them
             disgrace
             ,
          
           
             with
             damnable
             disdain
             ;
          
           
             Since
             Scotland
             rooted
             out
             that
             race
             ,
          
           
             let
             them
             not
             grow
             againe
             :
          
        
         
           
             But
             now
             
               brave
               England
            
             be
             thou
             bent
             ,
          
           
             to
             bannish
             all
             that
             brood
          
           
             And
             make
             your
             Lambeth
             Lad
             repent
             ,
          
           
             that
             never
             yet
             did
             good
             ;
          
           
             But
             shamefully
             hath
             sought
             the
             blood
          
           
             of
             sakelesse
             Saints
             of
             GOD
             ,
          
           
             Releeve
             your
             Lincolne
             ,
             better
             lov'd
             ,
          
           
             and
             set
             him
             
               safe
               abroad
            
             .
          
        
         
           
             And
             as
             for
             Irelands
             odious
             name
             ,
          
           
             that
             hath
             indur'd
             so
             long
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Tyrannie
             shall
             end
             with
             shame
             ,
          
           
             albeit
             their
             state
             be
             strong
             ;
          
           
             For
             GOD
             will
             sure
             revenge
             their
             wrong
             ,
          
           
             their
             Villany
             so
             vile
             ,
          
           
             The
             heaven
             hath
             heard
             their
             
               sorrowing
               Song
            
             ,
          
           
             and
             sighing
             all
             this
             while
             .
          
        
         
           
             So
             let
             the
             Devill
             goe
             Bishop
             them
             ,
          
           
             as
             he
             hath
             done
             before
             ,
          
           
             For
             never
             Man
             shall
             worship
             them
          
           
             in
             any
             Kingdome
             more
             :
          
           
             For
             Scotland
             that
             they
             crost
             so
             sore
             ,
          
           
             shall
             now
             with
             
               gladnesse
               sing
            
             ,
          
           
             And
             blesse
             him
             did
             our
             state
             restore
             ,
          
           
             that
             was
             our
             Gratious
             King.
             
          
        
      
       
         
           THE
           PROPHESIE
           O
           〈…〉
           OLD
           SYBILLA
           ,
           WHICH
           SECRETLY
           ●●E
           TOLD
           TOM
           MILLA
           .
        
         
           When
           Scotlands
           hundreth
           and
           ninth
           unconquered
           King.
        
         
           The
           sixteen
           hundred
           ,
           thirty
           and
           ninth
           yeare
           ,
        
         
           Into
           his
           age
           of
           thirty
           nine
           shall
           Raigne
           ,
        
         
           Then
           shall
           the
           Papall
           overthrow
           appeare
           ,
        
         
           Which
           all
           the
           Arts
           of
           Europe
           shall
           admire
           :
        
         
           For
           Scotland
           shall
           that
           blessed
           worke
           begin
           ,
        
         
           Then
           shall
           the
           Whore
           of
           Babell
           ,
           we
           had
           here
           ,
        
         
           Be
           banisht
           quite
           ,
           which
           Bishops
           did
           bring
           in
           .
        
         
           Then
           thou
           brave
           England
           which
           was
           led
           so
           blinde
           ,
        
         
           By
           their
           perverse
           Episcopapall
           Pride
           ,
        
         
           And
           Irelands
           shamelesse
           Superstitious
           sinne
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           be
           supprest
           ,
           wh●
           cruelly
           have
           cride
           ;
        
         
           So
           that
           that
           Sacred
           Prophetesse
           Sybilla
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           shortly
           come
           to
           passe
           she
           tells
           
             TOM
             MILLA
          
           ;
        
         
           And
           TOM
           tells
           me
           ,
           and
           I
           must
           tell
           't
           againe
           ,
        
         
           Through
           Scotland
           ,
           England
           ,
           Ireland
           ,
           Fance
           and
           Spain
           .
        
         
           
             Composed
             by
             TOM
             (
             
               A.
               S.
            
             )
             MIL●●
             〈…〉
             d
             mee
             ,
             And
             Printed
             new
             at
             Pomadie
             .
          
        
      
    
     
  

