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But that the Readers voice did part the fray.
Now what a wardrobe could I put to view,
The cloak-bag-breeches, and the sleek-stone shoe,
Th'Embroider'd Girdles, and your Usurers Cloaks,
Of far more various forms than there be Oaks
In Sherword, or Religions in this Town,
Strong then of Cypres chest appears the Gown:
The grogram-gown of such antiquity,
That Speed could never find its pedigree;
Fit to be doted on by Antiquary's,
Who hence may descant in their old Glossary's,
What kind of fardingale fair Helen wore,
How wings in fashion came, because wings bore
The Swan-transformed Leda to Jove's lap,
Our Matrons hoping thence the same good hap;
The pent-house bever, and calves-chaudron ruff,
But of these frantick fashions now enough,
For now there shall no more of them be said,
Lest this my ware-house spoil the French-men's trade,
And now as if I were that woollen-spinster,
That doth so gravely show you Sarum Minster,
Ile lead you round the Church from pew to pew,
And shew you what doth most deserve your view,
There stood the Font, in times of Christianity, Ingredients
that compound
a Congregation.
But now 'tis tak'n down, men call it Vanity;
There the Church-Wardens sit, hard by the dore,
But know ye why they sit among the Poor?
Because they love um well for love o'th' box,
Their money buys good beef, good wine, good smocks.
There sits the Clerk, and there the reverend Reader,
And there's the Pulpit for the good flock-Feeder,
Who in three lamentable dolefull ditty's
Unto their marriage-fees sing Nunc dimittis
Here sits a learned Justice, truly so
Some people say, and some again say no,
And yet methinks in this he seemeth wise
To make Stypone yeild him an excise,
