PRIDE's FALL:
OR,
A Warning for all English Women, by the Example of a
strange Monster lately born in Germany, by a Merchant's proud
Wife, at Geneva. Tune of, All you that love Goodfellows, etc.
|
ENglands fair dainty dames,
|
see here the fall of pride,
|
Wantonness leave in time,
|
that God may be your guide:
|
I was a Dutch-land frow,
|
shining in beauty bright;
|
And a brave merchant's wife,
|
in whom he took delight.
|
All things I had at will,
|
my heart could wish or crave;
|
My diet dainty fare,
|
my garments rich and brave;
|
No wife in Germany,
|
where I in pleasure dwell'd,
|
For golden bravery
|
my person so excell'd:
|
My coaches richly wrought,
|
and deckt with pearl and gold,
|
Carried me up and down,
|
whereas my pleasure would:
|
The earth I deem'd too base
|
my feet to tread upon;
|
My blooming crimson cheeks
|
felt neither wind nor sun.
|
My beauty made me think
|
myself an angel bright,
|
Framed of heavenly mould,
|
and not an earthly wight.
|
For my soul's happiness,
|
God's Holy Bible Book,
|
I had my looking-glass,
|
wherein I pleasure took.
|
There was no fashion found,
|
that might advance my pride,
|
But in my looking-glass,
|
my fancy soon espy'd:
|
Every vain foolish toy
|
changeth my wanton mind;
|
And they best pleased me
|
that could new fashions find.
|
Yet all these earthly joys
|
yeilded me small content,
|
In that dame nature had
|
ne'r a child to me sent,
|
That makes my heart to bleed,
|
for which offence to God,
|
He hath most grievously
|
scourged me with his rod:
|
And in my tender womb,
|
of so pure flesh and blood,
|
Created he, strange to see,
|
a most deformed brood;
|
That women of wanton pride
|
may take example by,
|
How they in fashions fond,
|
offend the Lord on high.
|
When the babe came to light,
|
and I brought to my bed,
|
No cost was spar'd that night,
|
to stand me in my stead;
|
My nurses young and fair,
|
fit for a royal queen,
|
Gave all attendance there,
|
as it was daily seen.
|
Never had merchant's wife
|
of ladies such a train,
|
That came in gentle sort,
|
at the [h]our of my pain:
|
But when my swelling womb
|
yeilded up nature's due,
|
Such a strange monster then,
|
surely man never knew,
|
For it affrighted so,
|
all the whole company,
|
That e'ryone said in heart,
|
Vengeance now draweth nigh.
|
It had two faces strange,
|
and two heads painted fair,
|
On the brows curled locks,
|
such as our wantons wear:
|
One hand held right the shape
|
of a fair looking-glass,
|
In which I took delig[h]t,
|
how my vain beauty was:
|
Right the shape of a rod,
|
scourging me for my sin,
|
The other seem'd to have,
|
perfectly seen therein.
|
These womens wantonness,
|
and their vain foolish minds,
|
Never contented are
|
with that thing God assigns:
|
Look to it London dames
|
God keepeth plagues in store,
|
And now the second part
|
of this song sheweth more.
|
Grief and care kills my heart,
|
where God offended is,
|
As the poor merchant's wife,
|
did worldly comforts miss:
|
Strange were the miseries
|
that she so long endur'd,
|
No ease by womens help,
|
could be as then procur'd.
|
Hereupon speaks the child,
|
with a voice fearfully,
|
Mother, your wanton pride,
|
brings this your misery:
|
Let your life soon amend,
|
or else the Mighty God,
|
Will scourge your wantonness,
|
with a more sharper rod.
|
About his neck a flaunting ruff
|
it had now gallantly,
|
Starched with white and blew,
|
seemly unto the eye:
|
With laces long and broad,
|
as now are womens bands,
|
Thus heavy wanton pride
|
first in God's anger stands.
|
The breast was plated o're,
|
as still the merchants be,
|
Now as lewd women wear,
|
t[o] hide adultery:
|
Every part, every limb,
|
had not true nature's frame,
|
But to shew to the world
|
this my great sin and shame:
|
From the head to the foot,
|
monsterlike was it born,
|
Every part had the shape
|
of fashions daily worn:
|
On the feet pinked shooes,
|
insteps had roses red,
|
Which in silk now is us'd,
|
so vainly are we led.
|
Thus hath my flesh and blood,
|
nourisht now near my heart,
|
Puts me in mind of sin,
|
and bids me now convert:
|
O let all women then,
|
take heed of wanton pride,
|
Angels have fallen from heaven
|
and for that sin have dy'd.
|
No sooner brought to light
|
was this fruit of my youth,
|
But to the counsel-house
|
it was brought for a truth:
|
Where to the magistrates,
|
in a most fearful sort,
|
Began aloud to speak,
|
and these words did report:
|
I am a messenger,
|
now sent from God on high,
|
To bid you all repent,
|
Christ's coming draweth nigh.
|
Repent you all with speed,
|
this is a message sure,
|
The world seems at an end,
|
and cannot long endure.
|
Pride is the prince of sin,
|
which is our chief delight.
|
Mankind repent with speed,
|
before the Lord doth smite:
|
This is my last adieu,
|
repentance soon provide.
|
These were his latest words,
|
and so the monster dy'd.
|
Great was the fear of those,
|
that these same speeches heard,
|
God grant all christians may
|
have their minds well prepar'd
|
With true repentance,
|
God's mercy to implore,
|
That never womankind
|
may bring such fruit forth more.
|
And you fair English dames,
|
that in pride do excel,
|
This woful misery,
|
in your hearts print full well:
|
Let not pride be your guide,
|
for pride will have a fall;
|
Maid and wife, let my life
|
be warning to you all.
|
|
|
|
|
|