Fit for an Age where only what Is brisk and airy, new refin'd, Exalts the Wit, and clears the mind? No ladies, no; go on your way; Gay Cloaths require gay Words, we say. When Art has trimm'd up Head-Attire, Fit for a Nation to admire; And Head and Ornament are well met, Like Amazonian Plume and Helmet; To call that by a vulgar Name, Would be too mean, and th' Artist shame; Call it a _Septizonimum_, or _Tiara_; Or what you please, that's new and rare-a. May not the Head, the Seat of Sense, Name it's own Dress, without Offence? The Roman Ladies, you are told, Wore such a Head-Attire of old; And what if _Juvenal_ were such a Satyr, The Roman Ladies to bespatter; Tell _Juvenal_, he was a Fool, And must not think to _England_ rule: Why should her Jewels move my Spleen; Let her out-dazle _Egypt_'s Queen: It shows that Gold the Pocket lines, Where such illustrious Glory shines; And there's a sort of Pride becomes The Pomp of Dress, as well as Rooms. I would not for the world be thought To pick a hole in Ladies Coat; Because they make it their Delight, To keep their Bodies trim and tite. What though the Names be new, and such As borrow from the French and Dutch? Or strain'd from the Italian Idiom, Rather from hence I take the Freedom, To praise their Care, thus to enrich And fructifie our barren Speech, We owe to their Vocabulary, That makes our Language full and airy, Enlarging _Meige_'s Dictionary. Where things want Names, Names must be had: Shall Lady cry to Chamber-maid, Bring me my Thing there, for my head; My Thing there, quilted white and red; My Thing there for my Wrists and Neck; 'Tis ten to One the Maids mistake; Then Lady cries, The Devil take Such cursed Sots; my tother Thing; Then 'stead of Shoes, the Cuffs they bring. 'Slife--Lady crys, if I rise up, I'll send thee to the Devil to sup; And thus, like _Babel_, in conclusion, The Lady's Closet's all Confusion; When as if Ladies name the Things, The Maid, whate'er she bid her, brings; Neither is Lady chaf'd with Anger, Nor Bones of Maiden put in danger. Sure then 'twas some ill-natur'd _Beau_, To persecute the Ladies so; For peopling, of their own accords, _Phillip's English World of Words_: A _Beau_ more cruel than the _Goths_, Thus to deny the Women Cloaths: As if to theirs the rich Additions Were Heathen Rites, and Superstitions; Or else, as if from _Picts_ descended, He were with Women's Cloaths offended; And spite of cold, or heat of air, He lov'd to see Dame Nature bare. Their Shoes and Stays, he says, are tawdry, Not fit to wear 'cause of th' Embroidry. For Petticoats he'd have e'm bare-breech'd, From _India_ 'cause the Stuffs are far-fetch'd. Their Points and Lace he damns to Hell; Corruptions of the Common-Weal. The vain Exceptions of Wiseacres, Fit to goe herd among the Quakers; And talk to _Maudlin_, in close Hood,