ENGLANDS PRIDE,
OR,
A Friendly Exhortation to forsake that Sin so much in Request.
The Proud are God Almighties Foes,
yet that Sin is too rife;
But why should Sinners thus oppose
that God that gave them life.
Tune is, Sefaution's Farewel.
Licensed according to Order.
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PRide's a reigning Sin of this Nation,
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and too much practis'd amongst us by Youth;
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What can be a more high provocation,
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than when we sin against Knowledge and Truth?
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Powdered Hair, young wantons they wear,
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Their Shoulders and Bosoms are likewise laid bare;
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All to Delude, Men to be Rude,
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Nay, happy they are if they get 'em in the mood.
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E'ry Blowze must have her fine Feather,
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in her Apparel most Richly array'd;
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So that when they are walking together
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the Mistris cannot be known from the Maid:
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Gillian, with Nan, they must have a Fan,
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And twenty fine Knick-Knacks they have to put on;
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New Modes are found, all London round,
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Sure Pride in young women did never more abound.
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E'ry Joan in Silks now will Rusle,
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with flanting Hoods, Laces, and Top-knots beside;
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Till their Heads are as big as a Bushel,
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O is not this a meer Monster of Pride?
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Women for shame, now strive to Reclaim,
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Or else I must tell you you're highly to blame;
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Pride in excess, makes your Fame less,
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Nothing speaks your praise like a Modest Civil Dress,
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Their rich Robes with Sweets must be Scented;
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and this they make all their study and care,
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How new Fashions must still be invented,
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because they do not know what they shall wear:
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Pride they adore, spend Thousands and more,
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But never a Penny will give to the Poor,
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For this we know, wheree're they go,
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Their Heads are so high that they cannot look so low.
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Dives like, they are cloath'd in fine Linnen,
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and fare as sumptuous and dainty as he,
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Though this is a most happy beginning,
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they do not know what their ending may be:
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Pride is a Sin, that most wallow in,
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And dayly committed agen, and agen:
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Heaven may frown, bring your Pride down,
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Remember this Ladies of London, London Town.
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See how some will jett in their going,
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as if that carriage was none of the worst,
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While, alas! the poor Mortal not knowing,
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how soon that Pride may be laid in the Dust:
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Death will take place, in each painted Face,
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There's none can withstand him he will you embrace
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In his cold Arms, then farewel Charms,
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All Beauties now living must yield to Deaths alarms.
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Are not some who once did adore you,
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now laid asleep in their Lodgings of Clay?
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They are gone but a little before you,
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and you must follow the very same way:
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Instead of neat, new Fashions compleat,
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You must have a Shrowd, or a poor Winding-sheet:
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This is your state, though ne'r so great,
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Consider your Folly before it is too late.
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If that we a Blessing desire,
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should on this Nation amongst us appear,
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Learn more Modesty in your Attire,
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or else, alas! we have reason to fear
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Gods heavy hand, may punish this Land,
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While in opposition against him you stand:
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Therefore, I pray, this very day,
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Let Top-knots and Towers be clearly cast away.
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