What Man wou'd shun the Plagues of Pox and Pills, Or all the ails that are in Doctors Bills, Rather than not be circled in the Arms Of one that tempts you with a thousand Charms, And tho' she long has lost her Maidenhead, Yet such Dexterity she'll shew in Bed, That, Sir, your Mouth wou'd water o're and o're, To feed again upon a skilful Whore.

The seventh Comfort of Whoring Answer'd

'Tis true, the Fop that thinketh to secure'd To himself, in private Lodgins some fine Whore He is a Fool, for she'll not be confin'd, To any Man altho' he's are so kind; For being then high Pampered and Fed, In absence of her Cull she takes to Bed Another, that with Gold allures her too, That she may not to her Gallant be true; For thinks she, when her Chap is tir'd quite, And turns her off in others to delight, From all she can she'll privately receive, Which may her great Necessities relieve, When that she bids adieu her Master's Bed, To get by publick jilting Tricks her Bread.

The eighth Comfort of Whoring, Answer'd

If any Man's in Love with any Whore, Why ought he not to lavish all his Store Upon her? Since, to make the Fop admire, Those prety Features which sets him a fire, She's often at the Charge of Velvit Hoods, Silk Stockins, Velvit Scarves and other Goods, Lac'd Shoes, rich Mantoe's, Gloves and Diamond Rings Fine Linnen, Gowns, and other costly things.

The ninth Comfort of Whoring Answer'd

If any has a Jilt some time sustain'd, Who has imperious o're his Pocket reign'd, And he's grown weary of so sweet a Life, Or else being jealous takes to him a Wife; The Whore can do no less than fling and tear, And on th' inconstant Coxcomb Vengeance swaer, For leaving her in this her state of Sin; And let the World know what the Spark has been, Unless a Pension he to her allows, That she may not his Roguery disclose.

The tenth Comfort of Whoring Answer'd

T'is true we Harlots work by various means, And act our Parts behind too diff'rent Scenes; Sometimes we do a Bastard lay to those, That never did so much as touch our Cloaths; Perhaps too ne'er were in our Company, So Guineas get by this same Subtilty; And many times a Pocket too we pick, For at no mischief will a Strumpit stick; For once a Woman's bad, there's no relief By being only Whore, but also Thief.

The Eleventh Comfort of Whoring, Answer'd

We'll have you know, of Whores are very few, That will to any Man be ever true; To us all Men for Money are alike, With Skips as soon as Beaus we bargains strike; And gad no sooner is a Cully gone, But quick another in his Room gets on.

The Twelfth Comfort of Whoring Answer'd

Besides great Charges we are at for Cloaths, To tempt the Fancies of our cringing Beaus, We Pimps and Bullies keep to be our Bail, When Sharping Bailiffs nabb us for a Jayl.

The Thirteenth Comfort of Whoring Answer'd

Again as we to Bridewel oft are sent, To undergo a flauging Punishment, A bribe to him that Whips us then is gi'n, To have Compassion to our tender Skin.

The Fourteenth Comfort of Whoring Answer'd

With pretty winning ways we do assure, Our selves to bring the Woodcocks to our Lure As ogling wishfully, and having Tongue, Which tho' 'tis false, yet with good Language hung And if we have a Voice that's good, we sing And Syren like our Fops to ruin bring; Then how we Strumpets do rejoyce to see, The wiser Sex undone by Lechery.

The Fifteenth Comfort of Whoring Answer'd

But now good lack-a-day our Trade's so bad, That truly Customers can scarce be had, Through those sly Whore's that do in privat dwell, So (but a story sad it is to tell) Our common Whores can scarce their Livings get By all the means of an intrieguing Wit. For Drury Lane, in Fleetstreet or the Strand, Hours we walk e're any by the Hand, Will take us, wherefore as we daggle home, Some prick-louse Taylor strutting up will come, With whom for want we're forced to comply, for one poor two pence wet, and two pence dry.

FINIS

THE FIFTEEN PLAGUES OF A MAIDEN-HEAD

Written by Madam B–le

LONDON:

Printed by F.P. near Fleet-street, 1707

THE

Fifteen Plagues of a

Maiden-Head, &c

The First Plague

The Woman Marry'd is Divinely Blest, But I a Virgin cannot take my Rest; I'm discontented up, as bad a Bed, Because I'm plagued with my Maiden-head; A thing that do's my blooming Years no good, But only serves to freeze my youthful Blood, Which slowly Circulates, do what I can, For want of Bleeding by some skilful Man; Whose tender hand his Launcet so will guide, That I the Name of Maid may lay aside.

The Second Plague

When I've beheld an am'rous Youth make Love, And swearing Truth by all the Gods above, How has it strait inflam'd my sprightly Blood Creating Flames, I scarcely should withstood, But bid him boldly march, not grant me leisure Of Parley, for 'tis Speed augments the Pleasure. Sirrah! tis my Misfortune not to meet With any Man that would my Passion greet, If he with balmy Kisses stop'd my Breath, From which one cannot die a better Death, Or stroke my Breasts, those Mountains of Delight, Your very Touch would fire an Anchorite; Next let your wanton Palm a little stray, And dip thy Fingers in the milky way: Then having raiz'd me, let me gently fall, Love's Trumpets sound, so Mortal have at all. But why wish I this Bliss? I wish in vain, And of my plaguy Burthen do complain; For sooner may I see whole Nations dead, But I find one to get my Maiden-head.

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The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony: Responses From Women

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The Sixth Comfort of Whoring, Answer'd