Classic Poem

Seven and Ten addyd to nyne,
Of Fraunce hir woe thys is the sygne,
Tamys rivere twys y-frozen,
Walk sans wtynge shoes ne hosen.
Then comyth foorthe, Ich understonde,
From Toune of Stoffe to fattyn Londe
An herdie Chiftan, woe the morne
To Fraunce, that evere he was borne.
Than shall the Fyshe beweyle his Bosse;
Nor shall grin Berris make up the Losse.
Yonge Symnele shall agayne miscarrye:
And Norways pryd agayne shall marreye.
And from the Tree where Blosums fele,
Ripe fruit shall come, and all is wele.
Reaums shall daunce honde in honde,
And it shall be merye in olde Inglonde.
Then olde Inglonde shall be noe more,
And no Man shall be sorie therefore.
Geryon shall have three Hedes agayne
Till Hapsburge makyth them but twayne.