PLEASANT Quips for Upstart New-fangled Gentlewomen.  
Imprinted at London by Richard johnes▪ 1596.   

A Glass, to view the pride of vainglorious Women.  
A PLEASANT INVECTIVE AGAINST the Fantastical Forreigue Toys, daily used in women's apparel.  

THese fashions fond of country strange,  
which English heads so much delight  
Through town and country which do range,  
and are embraced of every wight.  
So much I wonder still to see,  
That nought so much amazeth me.   

If they by Painters cunning skill,  
were pricked on walls, to make them gay:  
If glass in windows they did fill,  
or trimd-up-puppets, children's play,  
I would repute them Antics old,  
They should for me, go uncontrolled   

If they on stage, in stately sort  
might set, to please the Idles eye:  
If Maie-game maiets-for summer sport,  
by them in dance, disguised might be,  
They would not then deserve such blame,  
Nor work the wearers half the shame.   

But when as men, of lore and wit  
and guiders of the wekaer kind:  
Do judge them for their mate so fit,  
that nothing more, can please their mind.  
I know not what to say to this,  
But sure I know, it is amiss.   

And when sage Parents breeds in child,  
the greedy lust of hellish toys,  
Whereby in manners, they grow wild,  
and lose the bliss of lasting joys.  
I pity much to see the case  
That we thus fail of better grace.   

And when proud princocks, Rascals bratte,  
in fashions will be Prince's mate:  
And every gill that keeps a cat,  
in raiment will be like a state.  
If any cause be to complain,  
In such excess who can refrain.   

And when young wiskers fit for work,  
in no good sort will spend the day:  
But be profane, more than a Turk,  
intending nought but to be gay.  
If we were bend to praise our time,  
Of force we must condemn this crime.   

And when grave Matrons honest thought,  
with light heels trash will credit crack:  
And following after fashions nought,  
of name and fame, will make a wrack.  
Might love, and lip, a fault conceal,  
yet act and fact, would filth reveal.   

And when old Beldames, withered hags,  
whom hungry Dogs cannot require:  
Will whinnie stiil, like wanton nags,  
And saddled be with such attire.  
A patiented heart cannot but rage,  
To see the shame of this our age.   

These Holland smocks so white as snow,  
and gorgets brave with drawn-work wrought:  
A tempting ware they are you know,  
wherewith (as nets) vain youths are caught,  
But many times they rue the match,  
when pox & piles by whores they catch.   

These flaming heads with staring hair,  
these Wires turned, like horns of Ram:  
These painted faces, which they wear,  
can any tell from whence they came.  
(Don Satan,) Lord of feigned lies,  
All these new fangeles did devise.   

These glittering cawls, of golden plate,  
wherewith their heads are richly decked:  
Makes them to seem an Angel's mate,  
in judgement of the simple sect.  
To Peacocks I compare them right,  
That glorieth in their feathers bright.   

These Perriwigges ruffs, armed with pings,  
these spangles, chains, and laces all:  
These naked paps, the Devils gins,  
to work vain gazers painful thrall.  
He Fowler is, they are his nets,  
Wherewith of fools great store he gets,   

This starch, and these rebating props,  
as though ruffs were some rotten house:  
All this new pelf, now sold in shops,  
in value true, not worth a Louse.  
They are his dogs, he hunter sharp,  
By them a thousand he doth warp,   

This cloth of price, all cut in rags,  
these monstrous bones that compass arms:  
These buttons, pinches, fringes, jags,  
with them he weaveth woeful harms,  
He fisher is, they are his baits,  
Wherewith to hell, he draweth huge heaps.   

Wear masks for veils to hide and hold,  
as Christians did, and Turks do use  
To hide the face, from wantoness bold,  
small cause then were, at them to muse,  
But barring only wind and Sun,  
Of very pride they were begun.   

But on each wight, now are they seen,  
the tallow-pale the browning-bay,  
The swarthy-blacke, the grassy green,  
the pudding-red, the dapple-graie,  
So might we judge them toys aright,  
to keep sweet beauty still in plight.   

What else do masks, but maskers show,  
and Maskers can both dance and play:  
Our masking Dames can sport you know,  
Sometime by night, sometime by day,  
Can you hit it, is oft their dance,  
Deuse-ace falls still to be their chance.   

Were fans, and flaps of feathers fond,  
to flit away the flisking flies:  
As tail of Mare that hangs on ground,  
when heat of summer doth arise,  
The wit of women we might praise,  
For finding out, so great an ease.   

But seeing they are still in hand,  
in house, in field, in Church, in street:  
In summer, winter, water, land,  
in cold, in heat, in dry, in weet.  
I judge they are for wives such tools,  
As babbles are in plays for fools.   

The bawdy Busk, that keeps down flat,  
the bed wherein the babe should breed:  
What doth it else but point at that,  
which feign would have somewhat to feed.  
Where belly want might shadow vale,  
The Busk sets belly all to sale.   

Were busks to them, as stakes to gaps,  
to bar the beasts from breaking in,  
Or were they shields to bear off flaps,  
when friend or foe would fray begin.  
Who would the buskers forte assail,  
Against their sconce, who could prevail.   

But seeing such, as whom they arm,  
of all the rest do soon yield:  
And that by shot, they take most harm,  
when lusty gamesters, come in field.  
I guess, Busks are but signs to tell,  
Where Launderers for the camp do dwell.   

These privy coats, by art made strong,  
with bones, with past, and such like ware:  
Whereby their back and sides grow long,  
and now they harvest, gallants are.  
Were they for use against the foe,  
Our Dames for amazons might go.   

But seeing they do only stay  
the course that nature doth intend:  
And mothers often by them slay  
their daughters young, and work their end.  
What are they else but armours stout:  
Wherein like Giants, jove thy flout.   

These hoops that hips and haunch do hide,  
and heave aloft the gay hoyst-traine.  
As they are now in use for pride,  
so did they first begin of pain.  
When whore in stews had gotten pox,  
This Fench devise, kept coats from smocks.   

I not gainsay, but bastards sprout,  
might Arses great at first begin:  
And that when paunch of whore grew out,  
These hoops did help to hide their fin.  
And therefore tub-tailes all may rue,  
That they came from so vile a crew.   

If barrelled bums were full of Ale,  
they might well serve Tom Tapsters turn:  
But yielding nought but filth and stolen,  
no loss it were if they did burn.  
Their liquors doth so smell and stink,  
That no man can it use for drink.   

These Adorns white of finest third,  
so choicelic tide, so dearly bought:  
So finely fring, so nicely spread  
so quaintly cut, so richly wrought.  
Were they in work to save their coats,  
They need not cost so many groats.   

When shooters aim at butts and pricks,  
they set up whites to show the pin:  
It may be, Adorns are like trciks,  
to teach where rovers game may win.  
Brave archers soon will find the mark,  
But bunglers hit it in the dark.   

These worsted stocks of bravest dye,  
and silken garters fringed with gold:  
These corked shoes to bear them high,  
makes them to trip it on the mould.  
They mince it then with pace so strange  
Like untamed heifers, when they range,   

To carry all this pelf and trash,  
be cause their bodies are unfit,  
Our wantoness now in coaches dash,  
from house to house, from street to street,  
Were they of state, or were they lame,  
To ride in coach they need not shame.   

But being base, and sound in health,  
they teach for what they coaches make:  
Some thinks perhaps to show their wealth,  
nay, nay, in them they penance take.  
As poorer trulls, must ride in carts,  
So coaches are for prouder hearts.   

You silly men, of simple sense,  
what joy have you, old-Cookes to be:  
Your own dear flesh, thus to dispense,  
to please the glance of lusting eye.  
That you should couch your meat in dish,  
And others feel, it is no fish.   

Of very love you them array,  
in silver, gold, and jewels brave:  
For silk and velvet still you pay,  
so they be trim, no cost you save.  
But think you such as joy in these,  
Will covet none, but you to please.   

When they for gauds, and toys do wrangle,  
pretending state and neighbour's guise,  
Then are they bend, to trap and tangle,  
Unskilful brains, and heads unwise:  
I never yet saw, baited hook,  
But fisher then for game did look.   

They say they are of gentle race,  
and therefore must be finely decked,  
It were for them a great disgrace,  
to be as are the simple sect.  
Fine Gentles must be finely clad,  
All them beseems, that may be had.   

They gentle are both borne and bred,  
they gentle are in sport and game:  
They gentle are at board and bed,  
they gentle are in wealth and name.  
Such gentles nice, must needs be trim,  
From head to foot in every limb.   

But husbands you, mark well my saws,  
when they pretend their gentle blood.  
Then they intent to make you daws,  
in vain to spend your wealth and good.  
You better were the clown to ,  
Then Gentles which do virtue loath.   

True Gentles should be lights and guides,  
in modest path to simple rank  
But these that stray so far aside,  
themselves that thus unseemly prank.  
They are but puppets richly dight,  
True Gentry they have put to flight.   

You dainty Minious, tell me sooth,  
dissemble not, but utter plain:  
Is not this thus of very troth,  
think you I slander, lie or feign:  
When you have all your trinkets fit,  
Can you alone in chamber sit.   

You are not then to card and spin,  
to brew or bake I dare well say:  
No thrifty work you can begin,  
you have nought else to do but play.  
To play alone were for a sot,  
It's known, you minions, use it not.   

You think (perhaps) to win great same.  
by uncouth suits, and fashions wild  
All such as know you, think the same,  
but in each kind, you are beguiled.  
For when you look for praises sound,  
Then are you so light fisgiggs crowned▪   

The better sort, that modest are,  
whom garish pomp doth not infect:  
Of them Dame honour, hath a care,  
with glorious fame, that they be decked:  
Their praises, will for aye remain,  
When bodies rot, shall virtue gain.   

Thou Poet rude if thou be scorned,  
disdain it not, for Preachers grave  
Are still despised, by faces hornde,  
when they for better manners crave.  
That hap which falls, on men divine,  
If thou it feel, do not repine.   

I know some think, my terms are gross,  
too plain thou art some others deem:  
Be not aghast, thy foes are dross,  
full well doth rudeness them beseem.  
Who thee mislike, are but a mess,  
And here their kinds I will express.   

First, a simple swain, that nothing knows,  
next, curtaile-flurt, as rank as beast:  
Then peacock proud, that stately goes,  
last, roisting knaves, of virtue least.  
None else but these will thee disdain,  
Contemn them all as causes vain.   

Good men of skill, do know it well,  
that these our days require such speech:  
Who oft are moved with threats of hell,  
whom Preachers still in vain beseech.  
Is any knife too sharp for such  
Or any word for them too much.   

Let fearful Poets, pardon crave,  
that seek for praise, at every lips:  
Do thou not favour, nor yet rave,  
the golden mean is free from trips.  
This lesson old was taught in schools,  
It's praise to be dispraisde of fools.   
FINIS.