Prospective-Glass
FOR
CHRISTIANS;
To behold the Reigning Sins of this AGE:
OR,
The Complaint of Truth and Conscience against Pride, Envy, Hatred, and Malice; which
is too much Practisd in this present AGE.
Tune of Monstrous Women. Licensed according to Order.
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AS in a Slumber I was laid,
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poor Conscience was making moan;
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I saw sweet Truth in Rags arrayd,
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dejected and all alone:
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I tell you the Aged as well as the Youth,
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They slighted and hated poor Conscience in Truth,
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But Dissimulation theres thousands will sooth:
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O Folly desperate Folly,
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What will this World come to?
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Sweet Truth immediately replyd,
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the Nation may well complain,
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The Heart of Man is filld with Pride,
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and Malice does Rule and Reign:
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Ah Conscience! I tell thee I find thou art poor,
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I see thou art Naked and turnd out of door,
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The World sure was never so wicked before;
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O Folly, desperate Folly,
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What will this World come to?
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Some Men we find will rant and roar,
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and call it a merry Life,
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And oftentimes Embrace a Whore,
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and ruin an honest Wife:
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A Draggle-Tayl Drab they will cuddle and kiss,
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And call her sometimes the Perfection of Bliss,
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For every Rascal must now have his Miss;
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O Folly, desperate Folly,
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What will this World come to?
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Young Harlots do like Porters ply,
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at every turning down,
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And when a Cully dos draw nigh,
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their Fair is but half a Crown:
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Then strait they both in a Coach must be put,
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The huffing young Gallant, the draggle-tayl Slut,
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While good honest People do walk it on Foot;
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O Folly, desperate Folly, etc.
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The Pride of Women in this Land
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was never in Eve our Mother;
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See how their Top-Knots they do stand,
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one Story above another!
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Their Necks are naked, their Breasts open wide,
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Black Patches, now Powderd and Painted beside,
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I think that the Devils in Women for Pride;
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O Folly, desperate Folly, etc.
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Some Men will say the Crows not Black,
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thus flatter before your Face,
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Then cut your Throat behind your Back,
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and that in a little space:
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Their Smiles shall be presently turnd to a Frown
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Theyll do what they can for to tumble you down,
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And ruin a Neighbour for less than a Crown;
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O Malice, desperate Malice, etc.
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The down-right Man that cannot cog,
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nor flatter his Friend at all,
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Nor fawn, like to a Spaniel Dog,
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is often run down by all:
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But he that hath a smooth Tongue to comply,
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Can Complement, Flatter, Dissemble and Lye,
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Oh this is an honest Man, straight they will cry;
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Oh Folly, desperate Folly, etc.
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The Rich we find has many Friends,
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the poor they have few or none;
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But when this painful Life it ends,
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we then shall be all as one:
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The wealthy Rich Miser, and crafty old Knave,
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He shall with the poor Man, lye down in the Grave
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He shall but a Shroud or a Winding-sheet have;
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O Mortals, covetuous Mortals,
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Death we must all come to.
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Then whats the Glory of this World,
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for which we so much contend,
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When after Death we may be hurld,
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where Misery has no end?
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Then while we are living and flourishing here,
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O labour to keep your Consciences clear,
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To part with this World then you need not to fear
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Hate Folly, desperate Folly,
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Death we all must come to.
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