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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=426426" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Windsor Prophecy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=426426" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When a holy black Swede, the son of Bob,<br>With a saint at his chin and a seal at his fob,<br>Shall not see one New-Years-day in that year,<br>Then let old England make good cheer:<br>Windsor and Bristol then shall be<br>Joined together in the Low-countree.<br>Then shall the tall black Daventry Bird<br>Speak against peace right many a word;<br>And some shall admire his coneying wit,<br>For many good groats his tongue shall slit.<br>But spight of the Harpy that crawls on all four,<br>There shall be peace, pardie, and war no more<br>But England must cry alack and well-a-day,<br>If the stick be taken from the dead sea.<br>And, dear Englond, if ought I understond,<br>Beware of Carrots from Northumberlond.<br>Carrots sown Thynne a deep root may get,<br>If so be they are in Somer set:<br>Their Conyngs mark thou; for I have been told,<br>They assassine when younge, and poison when old.<br>Root out these Carrots, O thou, whose name<br>is backwards and forwards always the same;<br>And keep thee close to thee always that name<br>Which backwards and forwards is almost the same.<br>And, England, wouldst thou be happy still,<br>Burn those Carrots under a Hill.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Jonathan+Swift">Jonathan Swift</a></strong></div>