Satire: This childish Anticke, doating pie-bald world

This childish Anticke, doating pie-bald world,
Through which the Deuill, all blacke sins hath hurld:
Hath hene so long by wickednes prest downe,
From the freese Plow-swaine to th'Imperiall Crowne:
We haue so long in vice accustomd bin,
That nothing that is wicked lookes like sin.
The glistring Courtier in his gaudy tire,
Scornes with his heeles to know his russet Sire.
The pettifogging Lawyer crammes vp Crownes,
From hobnayld Boores, and sheepeskin country Clownes
The gaping, greedy, gryping Vsurer,
The sonne of Hell, and Sathans treasurer:
The base sould bribing Broaker,
The of Mankinde and his Countries choaker.
The helhownd whelpe, the shoulder-clapping Serient,
That cares not to vndoe the world for Argent.
The postknight that will sweare away his soule,
Though for the same, the law his eares doe powle.
The smoaky black-lungd puft Tobacconist,
Whose ioy dothin Tobacco sole consist.
The chollericke Gull that's tangled with a Drab,
And in her quarrell will his father stab.
The baudy dry boand letcherous Baboone,
Would faine repent, hut thinkes it is too soone.
The ryming Iygmonger would be a Poet,
But that the Rascall hath not wit to show it.
The wrinkled Bawd, and dambd Vermillian whore,
That buyes and sells the pox t'increase their store.
The greasy cauesdropping dore-keeping Pander,
That with a Puncke to any man will wander.
The conycatching shifter most briefe,
And when hees hangd heele cease to be a thiefe.
The Drunkard, will carrowse and quaffe,
Till like a Hog he tumble in his draffe.
Besides, theres diuers other helborne sinnes:
As some great men are wrapt in Misers skinnes,
For feare of whose dislike hold me still,
And not bumbast them with my Ganders quill.
Consider with thy selfe good Reader then,
That heere thou amongst those wicked men,
Who on this earthly stage together keepe,
Like mag gots in a putrified sheepe.
Whose damned dealings blacke confusion brings,
By the iust iudgement of the King of Kings.