A balade of a preist that loste his nose for sayinge of masse as I suppose

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Title
A balade of a preist that loste his nose for sayinge of masse as I suppose
Publication
[London :: s.n.,
1570?]
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Subject terms
Ballads, English -- 16th century.
Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A03110.0001.001
Cite this Item
"A balade of a preist that loste his nose for sayinge of masse as I suppose." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A03110.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 10, 2025.

Pages

Page [unnumbered]

A balade of a preist that loste his nose For sayinge of masse as I suppose.

WHo so list beare of a wonderous chaunce Of late I mette with one did me tell The craftiest priest in England or Fraunce Hath lost his nose, and how should he smell He went to his freinde his mynde to disclose And as he came home one cut of his nose.
It is a gentleman, a priest he tolde me To tell you his name I do not much passe It is olde syr Iohn the vycar of Lee which rayles at gods boke & reeles at his masse His cankarde mynde he cannot kepe close yet he serued him shrewdly that cut of his nose.
His smeller is smitten cleane from his face yet was there but one as he did saye Which caught him and pluckt of his nose in that place A hie man, a lowe man, a foxe, or a graye Tenne shillinges he saith in his purse be did lose I thinke he lied therof, but not of his nose
Great serching was sence that smeller to seke Some for hast left their scabbert at home Some had gunnes some halberts some forked pikes some in shyrts of maile like a lusty mome There was neuer sene before I suppose Such tossing and tombling for a priestes nose.
Som men yt thought him no harme in ther life But because they feare God, and do go about To liue with pure conscience & be without strife Thei ar boūd to the peas now for a priests snoue But because he can kepe mens horedom so close Therfore they make such a worke for his nose.
Because his scollers did mock at his masse He said he wolde make bloud run by their heles But God hath turned the plage from their arse And he with his nose did bloudy the stiles with bloud I hard saye as red as a rose he dronke well belike before he lost his nose.
What maner of nose was it sir ye sought for A black nose, a red nose, or one like my fist To be without nose was the marke of an whore And now it is the marke of an whorishe priest And now you are ryd right well of the nose Why do you make suche a worke for your nose.
Or was your nose somewhat wan or pale A blewe nose a bottle nose, or was it yellowe Nos autem haue sene it sometime at the ale Libera nos salua nos frō the swap of ye swalowe But why did ye vse syr to lye so and glose was it any meruayle though ye lost your nose.
Some men are liuing to whom he did say Seing he knew the truth, if euer he sayd masse He wisht that some membre might be cut away, Now at his request it is come to passe Much work he doth make for the lōp he did lose well, what will ye geue syr for a newe nose.
But what shal we say, yf men do not lye who cut of the priestes nose it is harde to iudge But he him self I think did it of enuy And then to bewite it to them he did grudge That therby they might ther kingdom vp close As sometime Sopirus did snap of his nose
For sometime he sayth it was but a mome And eftsone a talle man this he doth name But styll he affyrmeth it was but one which caught him and brought his nose oute of frame Could one man so do it as you suppose Except he were willing to haue of his nose.
Remedie is none, but this thinge is true His snout is snapts of howoeuer it was I thinke it were best to make him a new As sone he may do it, as god at his masse yf he cannot make him a snout, I suppose he can not make god no more then his nose
Seing the true God is gone frō your towne And god Pean & Baccus doth rule in his stede with hoysty and soysty ouer shoulder & crowne yet hath he no more life then a lompe of leade yf he haue, then charge him that man to disclose which met you & caught you, & cut of your nose.
But yf you do vse the true god to mocke And geue his honor to your god in the purse Loke whom ye blesse, and in blyndnesse rocke The liuing god will you & your blessinges curse And at length your falsehed to all men disclose And thē no dout your head wyl folow your nose
Take hede I saye you chaplyns of Balle Though ye haue fed longe at Iesabels borde Not longe but helias shall geue you a fall Repent and returne to the liuinge Lorde Though ye pricke till bloud runne by your toes ther wil a worse chance com thē lesing your nose
I wyll not pray for you, let them do that liste For feare God with me should be miscontent Seyng of purpose the holy ghost you resiste And if ye haue cleane forgotten to repent when God shall the secretes of all men disclose ye shal haue asmuch help as the preist of his nose
But you haue a vauntage syr if you mark all if a mous catch your god whē ye haue made it Then ye may catche the mouse fast by the walle For how can you hurt your nose except ye had it The prouerbe is true in you I suppose He cannot tell where to turne his nose.
Finis.
God saue the Quene.
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