The country-mans fare-vvel to London. Or, A broad-side against pride 1670 Approx. 7 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2008-09 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A80683 Wing C6552 ESTC R220187 99831610 99831610 152647

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A80683) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 152647) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 21241:53; 2311:5) The country-mans fare-vvel to London. Or, A broad-side against pride 1 sheet ([1] p.) Printed by A.P. for J. Conniers, at the sign of the Black-Raven in Duck-lane, [London] : [c. 1670] Place and date of publication from Wing. At end of text: With allowance. Verse - "Let's stem the Tide, though vanity be grown,". Reproduction of the originals in: British Library; William Andrews Clark Library.

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 eng Pride and vanity -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. London (England) -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. Broadsides -- England -- 17th century. 2007-10 Assigned for keying and markup 2007-10 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2007-11 Sampled and proofread 2007-11 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-02 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
The Country-Man's Fare-vvel to LONDON. OR, A Broad-ſide againſt Pride. LEt's ſtem the Tide, though vanity be grown, A Torrent that quite over-whelms the Town; Though horrid Atheiſm, and Bawdy fits, Are thought the nobleſt flights of modera Wits, Yet thou, free muſe! who always didſt diſdain To bear a part in the illuſtrious Train Of thriveing Vice; may'ſt with deſerved Rhymes Bleed (whilſt the Dog-days laſt) our Brain-ſick times: But ſtay—To charm theſe Adders don't engage, Satyrs are thrown away on ſuch an Age; Heaven in loud Judgements has proclaim'd it's ire, Sad Wars, dire Plagues, and all-amazing Fire, Yet Wars, nor Plagues, nor Fire can us reſtrain, But ſtill we grow more giddy, ſtill more vain; And think'ſt thou with ſoft ſcratches of a Pen For to reclaim ſuch brutified Men, They'r reſolutely Deaf, and it appears, Before they'l hear, thunder muſt bore their Ears. Pride, that at firſt made divels, now has hurl'd It's bane on men, and diveliz'd the World, Humility is baniſht, and we meet Whole ſwarms of Lucifers in every ſtreet; See how the haughty duſt and aſhes wa • ks As if he could unhinge the Poles; and talks Such Hogan Mogan words, as might out-vye (Were they but true) the Laws of Deſtiny; Our ſhaggy Gallants with prodigious Locks, (Supplies of thatch blown off by early Pox) Appear like Hairy Comets, that fore-ſhow Effiminated Follies Overthrow; Our Swaggerers with Arms a Kembo Huffe, And all muſt give the wall to Mounſiour Puffe, That walking Mercers ſhop, a thing that owes His very Eſſence to New-faſhion'd cloaths, And them to ſome confiding Stitch, who muſt As long as Drapers for Nolls mourning truſt; Poor painted Butter-Flyes, whoſe ſouls ſcarce ſave Their Carps from ſtinking, on this ſide a Grave; Who can but laugh, to ſee theſe pert Buffoons With empty Pockets, but vaſt Pantaloons: Whoſe dangling poynts rattle about their Trouzes Like Hen and Chickens in our Country Houſes: Their Copper Hat-bands counterfeiting gold, And freſh New Long-Lane Suits ſome ten years old, Whole Lord-ſhips laid on up-ſtart Squires back, And Sunday-Cloak that makes a whole Shop crack; Are theſe, proud Fool! thy ways to gain repute, T'undo thy ſelf for credit of a Suit? Reaſon directs our Cloaths to regulate, Suiting our birth, our breeding, or eſtate, For he that Flaunts beyond his pedigree, Forgets his home-ſpun Parents, and muſt be The mark of Envies ſhot; he that does wear A braver Garb than his weak Purſe can bear, Undoes his children; and the Gawdy Fopp, VVhoſe unbecoming Fineries o're top, His courſe mechanick parts, do what he can, Is but a gay incongruous gentleman; Nor may we leſs of th' other Sex complain, VVho think it their juſt priviledge to be vain; Idols, that half their precious minutes paſs Between the Dreſſing-box and Looking-glaſs, Whilſt the ſhort refidue's ſquandered away I'th wanton bed, vain viſits, or a play; Like ſpeckled Serpents ſome of them appear, And even borrow the faces that they wear, March under vices colours, patch and Paint, Whitewaſh and Dawb to make the Devil ſeem Saint, D • ſguis'd with fruzzled Towers they look like Bulls, But plant the horns of't on their Husbands skulls; With rowling Eyes they walk, and powdred creſts, Wanton affected Gate, and plumped breaſts, VVhoſe panting and inviting motions ſhow Too plain how much a ſtray their fancies go. Nor is it only the profaner Crew That theſe ſoul-murthering vanities purſue Thoſe that pretend unto far better things, VVe find of late this growing Serpent ſtings; They will like Dinah too view Hamors Land, And with his Daughters in like faſhions ſtand, Oh! why, dear ſouls, will you ſo much decline Sobriety, which once did make you ſhine I'th eyes of God, of Saints, and of the world, VVithout your tawdry dreſſes, or Locks curl'd, Suits your profeſſion with fond Toys and laces? Your Wiggs and Fanns, and Hoods like ſpotted faces? Your Mag-pye gowns, and fagotted up ſleeves, VVherein your guilty arms are bound like Thieves; For ſhame forbear, the wiſe King tells you all A proud and haughty mind fore-runs a Fall; Leave off your gawdy Trifles and ſtrange dreſs, Left God refuſe to know you in diſtrefs; And then ſtript of your wanton plumes you muſt, Do rueful pennance in Sack cloath and duſt.

With Allowance.

FINIS.

Printed by A. P. for J. Conniers, at the Sign of the Black-Raven in Duck-lane.