A Meditation on the pride of Womens apparrell.

SEe how some borrow'd off cast vaine attire,
Can puffe up pamper'd clay, and dirty mire:
Tell me whence had'st thy cloath's that makes thee fine,
Wast not the silly Sheeps before twas thine?
Doth not the Silke worme and the Oxes hide
Serve to maintaine thee in thy cheefest pride?
Do'st not thou often with those feathers vaile
Thy face, with which the Ostridge hides her taile?
What art thou proud of then? me thinks 'tis fit
Thou should'st be humble for the wearing it:
Tell me proud Madam; thou that art so nise,
How were thy parents clad in Paradise?
At first they wore the armour of defence
And were compleatly wrapt in innocence:
Had not they sin'd, they ne're had beene dismaid
Nor needed not the Fig-trees leavy ayde!
What ever state O Lord thou place me in
Let me not glory in th' effect of sinne.