A 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 Practised in this present AGE.  
Tune of Monstrous Women.  
Licenced according to Order.  
 
 

AS in a Slumber I was laid,  
poor Conscience was making moan;  
I saw sweet Truth in Rags arrayed,  
dejected and all alone:  
I tell you the Aged as well as the Youth,  
They slighted and hated poor Conscience in Truth,  
But Dissimulation there's thousands will soothe:  

O Folly desperate Folly,  
What will this World come to?    

Sweet Truth immediately replied,  
the Nation may well complain,  
The Heart of Man is filled with Pride,  
and Malice does Rule and Reign:  
Ah Conscience! I tell thee I find thou art poor,  
I see thou art Naked and turned out of door,  
The World sure was never so wicked before;  

O Folly, desperate Folly,  
What will this World come to?    

Some Men we find will rant and rear,  
and call it a merry Life,  
And oftentimes Embrace a Whore,  
and ruin an honest Wife:  
A Draggle-Tayl Drab they will cuddle and kiss,  
And call her sometimes the Perfection of Bliss,  
For every Rascal must now have his Miss;  

O Folly, desperate Folly,  
What will this World come to?    

Young Harlots do like Porters ply,  
at every turning down,  
And when a Cully does draw nigh,  
their Fair is but half a Crown:  
Then straight they both in a Coach must be put,  
The huffing young Gallant, the draggle-tayl Slut,  
While good honest People do walk it on Foot;  

O Folly, desperate Folly, etc.    

The Pride of Women in this Land,  
was never in Eve our Mother;  
See how their Topknots they do stand,  
one Story above another!  
Their Necks are naked, their Breasts open wide,  
Black Patches, now Powdered and Painted beside,  
I think that the Devil's in Women for Pride;  

O Folly, desperate Folly, etc.    

Some Men will say the Crows not Black,  
thus flatter before your Face,  
Then cut your Throat behind your Back,  
and that in a little space:  
Their Smiles shall be presently turned to a Frown  
They'll do what they can for to tumble you down,  
And ruin a Neighbour for less than a Crown;  

O Malice, desperate Malice, etc.    

The downright Man that cannot cog,  
nor flatter his Friend at all,  
Nor fawn, like to a Spaniel Dog,  
is often run down by all:  
But he that hath a smooth Tongue to comply,  
Can Compliment, Flatter, Dissemble and Lie,  
Oh this is an honest Man, strait they will cry;  

Oh Folly, desperate Folly, etc.    

The Rich we find has many Friends,  
the poor they have few or none;  
But when this painful Life it ends,  
we then shall be all as one:  
The wealthy Rich Miser, and crafty old Knave,  
He shall with the poor Man, lie down in the Grave  
He shall but a Shroud or a Winding-sheet have;  

O Mortals, covetous Mortals,  
Death we must all come to.    

Then what's the Glory of this World,  
for which we so much contend,  
When after Death we may be hurled,  
where Misery has no end?  
Then while we are living and flourishing here,  
O labour to keep your Consciences clear,  
To part with this World than you need not to fear  

Hate Folly, desperate Folly,  
Death we all must come to.     

Printed for P. Brooksby, J. Deacon, J. Blare and J. Back.