A PROGNOSTICATION upon W: Laud late bishop of Canterbury written Anno: Dom: 1641: Which accordingly is come to pass  

Behold a traitor's head   
My little Lord methinks 'tis strange  
that you should suffer such a change  
In such a little space  
You that so proudly t'other day  
did rule the king & country sway  
must trudge to neither place  
Remember now from whence you came  
and that your grandsiers of your name  
were dressers of old cloth  
Go bid the dead men bring there shers  
and dress your coat to save your ears  
or pawn your head for both  
The wind shakes cedars that are tall  
an haughty mind must have a fall  
you are but low I see  
And good it had been for you still  
If both your body mind and will  
In equal state should be  
The King by harkening to Your charms  
Hugged our destruction in his arms  
and gates to foes didst ope  
Your staff would strike his sceptre down  
your mighter would o'er top the crown  
If you should be a pope  
But you that did so firmly stand  
to bring in popery to this land  
Have missed your hellish aim  
Your saints fall down your angels fly  
your crosses on yourself do lie  
your crafts will be your shame  
We scorn that popes with Crosier staves  
Mitres orkeyes should make us slaves  
and to there feet to bend  
The pope and his malicious crew  
We hope to handle all like you  
and bring them to an end  
The silcnce clergy void of fear  
In your damnation will have share  
and speak there mind at large  
Your cheskake cap and magpie gown  
that made such strife in every town  
must now defray your charge  
Within this six years six ears have  
Been cropped of worthy men and grave  
for speaking what was true  
But if your subtle head and ears Can satisfy those six of there's expect but what's your due  
Poor peaple that have felt your rod  
Yield laud to the devil praise to god  
for freeing them from thrall  
Your little grace for want of grace  
must lose your patriarcall place  
and have no grace at all  
your white lawn sleeves that were the wings  
whereon you soared to lofty things  
must be your fins to swim  
Tharch bishops sea by thames must go  
with him unto the tower below  
there to be racked like him  
your oath cuts deep your lies hurt sore  
your cannons made scots cannons roar  
but now I hope you'll find  
That there are cannons in the tower  
will quickly batter down your power  
and sink your haughty mind  
The cominalty have made a vow  
no oath no cannons to allow  
no bishops common prayer  
No lazy prelates that shall spend  
such great revenues to no end  
but virtue to jmpaire  
Dum dogs that wallow in such store  
that would suffice above a score  
pastors of upright will  
Now they'll make all the bishops teach  
and you must in the pulpit preach  
that stands on Tower-hill  
When the yeoung lads to you did come  
you knew there meaning by the drum  
you had better yielded then  
Your head and body than might have  
One death one burial and one grave  
by boys but two by men  
But you that by your judgements clear  
will make five quarters in a year  
and hang them on the gates  
That head shall stand upon the bridge  
when yours shall under traitors trudge  
and smile on your mist fates  
The little ren that soared so high  
thought on his wings away to fly  
like finch I know not whither  
But now the subtle whirly wind  
debauk hath left the bird behind  
you two must flock together;  
A Bishop's head a debuties breast  
A finches tongue a wren fro'ms nest  
will set the devil on foot  
he's like to have a dainty dish  
at once both flesh and foul and fish  
and duck and lamb to boot  
But this I say though your lewd life  
did fill both church and state with strife  
and trample on the crown  
like a blessed martyr you will die  
for churches good she riseth high  
when such as you fall down   

Sold at the black bull in cornhill near the royal exchange