He that instructs a foole, may act th’ unwise.
It is known more then enough, that I am neither Nigard, nor Cinick, to the due bravery of the true Gentry: if any man mislikes a bully ’mong drossock more than I, let him take her for his labour! I honour the woman that can honour her selfe with her attire: a good Text alwayes deserves a fair Margent: I am not much offended if I see a trimme, far trimmer than she that wears it: in a word, whatever Christianity or Civility will allow, I can afford with London measure: but when I heare a nugiperous Gentledame inquire what dresse the Queen is in this week: what the nudiustertian fashion of the court; I meane the very newest: with egge to be in it in all haste, what ever it be; I look at her as the very gizzard of a trifle, the product of a quarter of a cypher, the epitome of nothing, fitter to be kickt, if shee were of a kickable substance, than either honour’d or humour’d.
To speak moderately, I truly confesse, it is beyond the ken of my understanding to conceive, how those women should have any true grace, or valuable vertue, that have so little wit, as to disfigure themselves with such exotick garbes, as not only dismantles their native lovely lustre, but trans-clouts them into gant bar-geese, ill-shapen-shotten-shell-fish, Egyptian hyeroglyphicks, or at the best into French flurts of the pastery, which a proper English-woman should scorne with her heels; it is no marvell they weare drailes on the hinder part of their heads, having nothing as it seems in the fore part, but a few Squirril’s brains to help them frisk from one ill-favor’d fashion to another.
These whimm-Crown’d shees, these fashion-fansying wits,
Are empty thin-brained shells, and fiddling Kits.
The very troublers and impoverishers of mankind, I can hardly forbear to commend to the world a saying of a Lady living sometime with the Queen of Bohemia. I know not where shee found it, but it is a pitty it should be lost.
The World is full of care, much like unto a bubble;
Women and care, and care and women, and women and care and trouble.
The Verses are even enough for such odde pegma’s. I can make myselfe sicke at any time, with comparing the dazling splender wherewith our Gentlewomen were embellished in some former habits, with the goosdom wherewith they are now surcingled and debauched. Wee have about five or six of them in our Colony; if I see any of them accidentally, I cannot cleanse my phansie of them for a moneth after. I have been a solitary widdower almost twelve yeares, purposed lately to make a step over to my Native Country for a yoke fellow; but when I consider how women there have tripe-wifed themselves with their cladments, I have no heart to the voyage, least their nauseous shapes and the Sea, should work too sorely upon my stomach. I speak sadly; me thinkes it should breake the hearts of Englishmen to see so many goodly Englishwomen imprisoned in French Cages, peering out of their hood-holes for some men of mercy to help them with a little wit, and no body relieves them.
It is a more common than convenient saying, that nine Taylors make a man; it were well if nineteene could make a woman to her minde; if Taylors were men indeed, well furnished, but with meer morall principles, they would disdain to be led about like Apes, by such mymick Marmosets. It is a most unworthy thing, for men that have bones in them, to spend their lives in making fidle-cases for futilous women’s phansies; which are the very pettitoes of infirmity, the gyblets of perquisquilian toyes. I am so charitable to think, that most of that mystery would worke the cheerfuller while they live, if they might bee well discharged of the tyring slavery of mis-trying women; it is no little labour to be continually putting up English-women into Out-landish caskes; who if they be not shifted anew, once in a few moneths, grow too sowre for their Husbands. What this Trade will answer for themselves when God shall take measure of Taylors’ consciences is beyond my skill to imagine. There was a time when