An encomiastick character Of the most Necessary, most Ingenious, and most Pleasant Art, of Taylorie: Dedicated to the Masters of the much Honoured Corporation of Edinburgh [by Ninian Paterson] |
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 | An encomiastick character |  |
AN ENCOMIASTICK CHARACTER Of the most Necessary, most Ingenious, and most Pleasant Art, OF TAYLORIE
Dedicated to the Masters of the much Honoured CORPORATION OF EDINBURGH.
Blest are Our Dayes, and Happy are Our Starrs!
After Our Brutish, and Intestine Warrs;
When harmeless Peace claps her Triumphant Wings,
Betwixt the Subjects Interest, and the Kings:
Peace the sole Nurse of Plenty, and of Arts,
Hath with such Thrift and Vertue fill'd our Hearts
No more the Bloody, and Revengeful Blade
To Toss, but each to follow his Own Trade.
Amongst the which Your necessary Art,
Hath both the Pompous, and the pleasant Part;
An Art whose Character, and true intent,
Both for distinction is, and ornament.
For constantly through all the World we find,
Mans habit differs from the Woman-kind.
If we affirm (who'l take it in ill part?)
That Kings and Patriarchs both practis'd your Art.
Joseph was Jacobs darling, And what not?
And it was Jacob that made Josephs Coat.
Ladies made Cloaths, who had no Journeymen,
A Madam Taylor was no wonder then.
Yea without Taylors, where's the difference,
Betwixt a Countesse and a Countrey Wench?
Let any strangers eye (the most observant)
Distinction make of Master from a Servant,
Without your Art? Nay it is only ye,
Can fashion each Man to his own degree.
Did not your Art adorn them year by year,
Lords would like Beggars, Beggars Lords appear.
View me your Parliaments, wherein its said
The Glory of a Nation is Displaid;
Did not your Pompous Art each Man adorn,
Their Glorious Grandour all would turn to scorn.
Adam and Eve, he King, and she a Queen,
The greatest ever in this world were seen,
Were Taylors both: But this was the mischief,
They wanted Cloath, and sowed Leaf to Leaf.
Yet since no Art, nor Instrument was theirs,
They were but Embrio-Master fashioners.
After Our Brutish, and Intestine Warrs;
When harmeless Peace claps her Triumphant Wings,
Betwixt the Subjects Interest, and the Kings:
Peace the sole Nurse of Plenty, and of Arts,
Hath with such Thrift and Vertue fill'd our Hearts
No more the Bloody, and Revengeful Blade
To Toss, but each to follow his Own Trade.
Amongst the which Your necessary Art,
Hath both the Pompous, and the pleasant Part;
An Art whose Character, and true intent,
Both for distinction is, and ornament.
For constantly through all the World we find,
Mans habit differs from the Woman-kind.
If we affirm (who'l take it in ill part?)
That Kings and Patriarchs both practis'd your Art.
Joseph was Jacobs darling, And what not?
And it was Jacob that made Josephs Coat.
Ladies made Cloaths, who had no Journeymen,
A Madam Taylor was no wonder then.
Yea without Taylors, where's the difference,
Betwixt a Countesse and a Countrey Wench?
Let any strangers eye (the most observant)
Distinction make of Master from a Servant,
Without your Art? Nay it is only ye,
Can fashion each Man to his own degree.
Did not your Art adorn them year by year,
Lords would like Beggars, Beggars Lords appear.
View me your Parliaments, wherein its said
The Glory of a Nation is Displaid;
Did not your Pompous Art each Man adorn,
Their Glorious Grandour all would turn to scorn.
Adam and Eve, he King, and she a Queen,
The greatest ever in this world were seen,
Were Taylors both: But this was the mischief,
They wanted Cloath, and sowed Leaf to Leaf.
Yet since no Art, nor Instrument was theirs,
They were but Embrio-Master fashioners.
It's yours above all Arts, whose industrie
Can add a Splendour to Nobilitie.
Yea, Ye have fill'd all Ages, and all States
With Worthie Patriots and Magistrates;
Both Burgesses, and Splendid Gentry too,
In Town and Country owe their Birth to you:
Councils, and Armies, ye have both supplied
With Wit and Valour, more than any Trade.
Some Arts the Hands, and some the Feet do cover,
Only the Taylors Art, is seen all over.
Some are for Halcyon peace, some for stern Warr,
But yours for both, So great's a Taylors Care!
Some Arts we use at Land, and some at Sea.
The Taylors Art we need where ere we be.
Some Arts are only for some kind of Men,
But yours all sorts doth fully comprehend;
Without the which, Judges would stand like Blocks,
And Kings themselves wold prove but laughing stocks
Some Arts are so extinct, nought can perswade,
But their sad Relicts, they a Being had,
Yet it's acknowledged in every part,
The Taylors are the eldest Sons of Art;
Whose Art to the last Judgment shall remain;
Or Israel in desert be again.
Your Art was surely precious to the Jews,
Who rent their cloaths on every dismall newes.
Ye're Artificiall Powers, that can Create
The several shapes, both in the Church and State.
And can them into several Classes varie,
Politick, Sacred, or the Militarie.
It's you makes Cinnamon Trees, of silly Noddies,
Whose Bark is far more Worthy than their Bodies.
And tho their Head like emptie Bottles showes,
Ye Rhetorick Infuse into their Cloaths.
If palliative cures deserve that name,
Ye are Physicians of Disastrous shame.
And are prefer'd before them yet a stepp,
Defects of nature ye both help and hepp.
What Lands, what Livings, and what goodly price,
Would Adam given for you in Paradice.
It's true from Adam's fall our Cloaths we name,
The fairest covers, of the Foulest shame:
Yet to exalt your Glory, not your Pride,
Blessed are ye our nakedness can hide.
It's you can make the outside satisfie
The expectation of the Curious Eye.
The Souls the Bodies Blade, but then we know
The Scabbard (next to GOD) to you we owe.
Nay to the Eternal Honour of your Trade,
Your Master first was GOD Himself we Read .
Since Reason and the Scriptures both allow,
All other Trades must needs give place to you.
Can add a Splendour to Nobilitie.
Yea, Ye have fill'd all Ages, and all States
With Worthie Patriots and Magistrates;
Both Burgesses, and Splendid Gentry too,
In Town and Country owe their Birth to you:
Councils, and Armies, ye have both supplied
With Wit and Valour, more than any Trade.
Some Arts the Hands, and some the Feet do cover,
Only the Taylors Art, is seen all over.
Some are for Halcyon peace, some for stern Warr,
But yours for both, So great's a Taylors Care!
Some Arts we use at Land, and some at Sea.
The Taylors Art we need where ere we be.
Some Arts are only for some kind of Men,
But yours all sorts doth fully comprehend;
Without the which, Judges would stand like Blocks,
And Kings themselves wold prove but laughing stocks
Some Arts are so extinct, nought can perswade,
But their sad Relicts, they a Being had,
Yet it's acknowledged in every part,
The Taylors are the eldest Sons of Art;
Whose Art to the last Judgment shall remain;
Or Israel in desert be again.
Your Art was surely precious to the Jews,
Who rent their cloaths on every dismall newes.
Ye're Artificiall Powers, that can Create
The several shapes, both in the Church and State.
And can them into several Classes varie,
Politick, Sacred, or the Militarie.
It's you makes Cinnamon Trees, of silly Noddies,
Whose Bark is far more Worthy than their Bodies.
And tho their Head like emptie Bottles showes,
Ye Rhetorick Infuse into their Cloaths.
If palliative cures deserve that name,
Ye are Physicians of Disastrous shame.
And are prefer'd before them yet a stepp,
Defects of nature ye both help and hepp.
What Lands, what Livings, and what goodly price,
Would Adam given for you in Paradice.
It's true from Adam's fall our Cloaths we name,
The fairest covers, of the Foulest shame:
Yet to exalt your Glory, not your Pride,
Blessed are ye our nakedness can hide.
It's you can make the outside satisfie
The expectation of the Curious Eye.
The Souls the Bodies Blade, but then we know
The Scabbard (next to GOD) to you we owe.
Nay to the Eternal Honour of your Trade,
Your Master first was GOD Himself we Read .
Since Reason and the Scriptures both allow,
All other Trades must needs give place to you.
A Master of his Trade none him aver,
In House or Shop who wants this Character.
In House or Shop who wants this Character.
Æternum Floreat ARS VESTIARIA.
N. PATERSON.
FINIS.
| An encomiastick character | |