THE
VIRGINS Vindication:
OR,
The Conceited Fashionmongers
Fairly expos'd
To the view of the World.
To the Tune of, The Scotch Hay-makers.
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IN the former Ages there never was the state
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Or pride in their Apparel as here has been of late;
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Father Adam and his Wife, they did never in their life,
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The lest admire rich Attire, they were not at strife,
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For Silks or Sattins, or shining Gold,
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Poor silly Fig-leaves serv'd for to keep them from the Cold:
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But now 'tis turn'd we see to Silks and bravery,
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Young Sparks admire rich Attire, mounted cap-a-pe.
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We have been degraded by Gallants long ago,
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And told of our high Toppins, this of a truth you know,
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With our paint and powder'd Hair, but I think we may declare
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You cannot blame us, nor defame us, tho' the same we wear;
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Having now follow'd us in our Pride,
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With Silks a shining Gold, nay, and twenty things beside:
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Now Gallants of the Game, henceforward never blame
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Young Maids nor Women for their Trimming, first yourselves reclaim.
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Is it not apparent from what we dayly see,
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That all your chief delight is in Prodigality,
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While you study night and day for new Fashions rich and gay,
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With Wig and Rapier, how you vaper at each Ball and Play,
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Where if you find any thing that's new,
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The Tayler must be fetch'd without any more ado:
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Now Gallants of the Game, etc.
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Young Maids nor Women, etc.
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Men of old delighted in modest locks of Hair,
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Which now of late are slighted, for ranting Gallants wear
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Wigs that dangle to each Waste, with their Garments fring'd & lac'd
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Which Bully hectors, Jilt-protectors thinks that they are grac'd,
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When they do strut it like Peacocks gay,
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In Feathers bought on trust for which they'll forget to pay:
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Then Gallants of the Game, henceforward never blame
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Young Maids nor Women for their Trimming, first yourselves re-claim.
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See the bowish Button can of a Turnip seize,
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To keep up Caralina from hanging o're their Eyes,
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With Button-holes beside, which are near as large and wide
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Upon each Jacket, as Joan's Placket, can it be deny'd?
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Sleeves hanging over their Knuckles, Sir,
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Like to a pair of Poaks for to carry Provender:
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Then Gallants blush for shame, etc.
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Young Maids nor Women, etc.
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They must have their Rapier with a rich silver Hilt,
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A knot of gaudy Ribbons, tho' not a groat of Gilt;
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With a ranting taring Muff, thus the flanting Bully huff,
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Looks like a Paggin, you'd immagine he hath Means enough;
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Yet let me tell you these modish Bows,
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Are often in a strait and oblig'd to pawn their Cloaths:
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Thus Gallarts of the Game, etc.
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Young Maids nor Women, etc.
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Such conceited Cods-heads was never known before,
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While in their gaudy Plumbs how they view themselves all o're,
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Nay the Wig must have a fling for to show the Diamond-ring,
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'Tis state and pleasure out of measure, and a glorious thing,
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To show the Ladies their excellence,
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Thus with their ranting Pride they have scarce a grain of Sense:
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Then Gallant of the Game, henceforward never blame
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Young Maids nor Women for their Trimming, first yourselves re-claim.
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