Page:Pride of poor Britain or, The folly of man.pdf/4

 The rich we find, have many friends,

But the poor have few of none,

But when this painful life doth end,

Then we ſhall be all 29 one;

The wealthy rich miſer, and crafty old knave,

Muſt with the poor beggar lie down in the grave,

They'll but a ſhroud or a winding-ſheet have

Chorus. O poor Britain, prodigal Britain, etc.

Then what is the glory of this world,

On which we ſo much depend?

When after death we may be hurl'd

Where miſery has no end;

Then when we are living and flouriſhing here,

Let's labour to keep our conſciences clear,

To part with this world we need not fear.

Chorus. O poor Britain, prodigal Britain,

What will this world come to?

E beauties, or ſuch as would beauties be fam'd,

Lay patches and waſhes and painting aſide,

Go burn all the glaſſes that ever was fram'd,

The gewgaws of faſhion, & knicknacks of pride.

A noſtrum to cull from the toilet of reaſon,

'Tis eaſy, 'tis cheap, and 'tis ever in ſeaſon,

By all to be found, and with all to be pleaſing,

When art has in vain her coſmetics applied.

Good-nature, believe me is the ſmootheſt of varniſh,

Which ever bedimples the beautiful cheek;

No time nor no tint can it's excellence tarniſh,

it holds good ſo long, and lies on ſo ſleek.

'Tis more than the bluſh of the roſe in the morning,

The white of the lilly is not ſo adorning,

All accident proofs and all ſcrutiny ſcorning;

'Tis eaſe to the witty, and wit to the weak.