Poor Robin's prophecy, for the year 1701 Found several years after his death, hid under an old close-stool-pan. And now publish'd by his executors, to make some people merry, and the rest mad. Containing, comical predictions for every month in the year, carefully calculated, to make both sexes shake their sides till they break their twatling-strings.

TO THE READER.

Gentlemen,

WIth the use of very little Astrology, I have un∣dertaken to Prognosticate many Passages and Transactions, which, in all probability, will happen in this first Year of the Eighteenth Century; for I confess I never took up a Lodging in any of the Twelve Houses, or have I serv'd seven Years to a Fortune-teller, yet I hope an Ass may have the li∣berty of Prophecying, without having a Balaam to his Master.

My Name has been famous for my Almanacks throughout England, for above this Thirty Years, tho' I never writ one in my Life, and have been dead this three Years; yet, if you will believe me a living Christian, I never told the World any thing but Truth, ever since Lying has been fashionable.

I have often predicted very strange things, to my Country's great satisfaction, and wrote many Intel∣ligences some Years since, to the Town's diversion; yet I may honestly say this in my own behalf, that

I never design'd any thing, but to make People foolishly Merry, without being a jot the wiser.

The main design of this my Prophecy, I had al∣most forgot to remember; but, as true as I'm dead and rotten, now I recollect my self, it was only to put the World in mind of me, when I was under∣ground, lest an ungrateful Age should bury me in Oblivion.

I had always, when I was living, an Itch after Popularity; and now I'm dead, as true as the Worms have devour'd me, I cannot rest quietly in my Grave without I hear People talk of me; therefore I always took delight in Scribling, sometimes Prose and sometimes Poetry, that, like some other dead Bards, I might live for ever.

These Papers I have left behind me, being the excrement of my Brain, I thought fit to hide them under a Close-Stool-Pan, that when ever they came to light, they might make People laugh till they besh••t themselves. I have very little to say in the praise of this my last Legacy, only, as I told you before, what I have here foretold you, will all prove true, or else take me for a Lyar. So farewel.

Yours, &c. Poor Robin.