Yf Crystmas Day On The Sonday Be Lyrics

Yf Crystmas day on the Sonday be
A trobolus wynter ye shall see,
Medlyd with waters stronge;
Were shalbe good wyth-owte fabylle,
The somer it shabe resonabylle,
And stormys odyr whylys amonge.

Wynes that yere shalbe goode,
The herveste shalbe wete wyth floddes,
Pestylens falle in many a contre,
And many youngge pepylle dede shall be,
O r that sekenes lynne,
And grete tempestes ther-ynne.

Prynces that yere with iren shall dye,
And chaungyng of many lordes eye,
Among knyghttes grete debate;
Many tydynges shall com to men;
Wyffes shalle wepen then,
Bothe pore and grete estates.

The faythe then shallbe hurte truly,
For dyvers poyntes of heresy
That they shall apere,
Throwe temptyng of the fende;
For diverse maters unkynde
Shalle cawse grete daunger.

Catelle shall threve one and odyr,
Save beeve, they shall kyll eche odyr,
And som bestes shalle dyen;
Lytell frute and corne good,
No plente of appylles to your fode;
Shyppys on the see have payne.

That yere on the Monday, wyth-owte fyne,
Althynges welle thou mayste begynne,
Hyt shalbe prophytabylle;
Chyldren that be borne that day,
Shalbe myghtye and strong par fay,
Of wytte full reasonnabylle.