







 
   
     
       
         The insinuating bawd and the repenting harlot written by a whore at Tunbridge, and dedicated to a bawd at the Bath.
         Ward, Edward, 1667-1731.
      
       
         
           1699
        
      
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         A71299
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         ESTC R8643
         12381526
         ocm 12381526
         60779
         
           
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             The insinuating bawd and the repenting harlot written by a whore at Tunbridge, and dedicated to a bawd at the Bath.
             Ward, Edward, 1667-1731.
          
           [4], 12 p.
           
             Printed, and are sold by most booksellors,
             London :
             [1699]
          
           
             In verse.
             Attributed to Ward by Wing and NUC pre-1956 imprints.
             Date of publication suggested by Wing.
             Advertisement: p. [2].
             This work appears on reel 904:39 and 1107:10.
             Reproduction of original in the Huntington Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Vice -- Anecdotes
        
      
    
     
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           THE
           Insinuating
           Bawd
           :
           AND
           THE
           
             Repenting
             Harlot
          
           .
        
         
           
             Written
             by
             a
          
           Whore
           at
           Tunbridge
           ,
           
             and
             Dedicated
             to
             a
          
           Bawd
           
             at
             the
          
           Bath
           .
        
         
         
           LONDON
           Printed
           ,
           and
           are
           Sold
           by
           most
           Booksellors
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           Books
           Printed
           and
           Sold
           by
           
             J.
             How
          
           ,
           in
           the
           Ram-Head-Inn-Yard
           in
           Fenchurch-Street
           ;
           and
           by
           
             M.
             Fabian
          
           ,
           at
           Mercers-Chappel
           .
        
         
           
             1.
             
             SOt's
             Paradise
             :
             Or
             the
             Humours
             of
             a
             Derby-Ale-House
             :
             With
             a
             Satyr
             upon
             the
             Ale.
             Price
             Six
             Pence
             .
          
           
             2.
             
             A
             Trip
             to
             Jamaica
             :
             With
             a
             True
             Character
             of
             the
             People
             and
             Island
             Price
             Six
             Pence
             .
          
           
             3.
             
             
               Ecclesia
               &
               Factio
            
             .
             A
             Dialogue
             between
             Bow-Steeple-Dragon
             ,
             and
             the
             Exchange-Grashoper
             .
             Price
             Six
             pence
             .
          
           
             4.
             
             The
             Poet
             's
             Ramble
             after
             Riches
             .
             With
             Reflections
             upon
             a
             Country
             Corporation
             .
             Also
             the
             Author's
             Lamentation
             in
             the
             time
             of
             Adversity
             .
             Price
             Six
             pence
             .
          
           
             5.
             
             A
             Trip
             to
             New-England
             .
             With
             a
             Character
             of
             the
             Country
             and
             People
             ,
             both
             English
             and
             Indians
             .
             Price
             Six
             pence
             .
          
           
             6.
             
             Modern
             Religion
             ,
             &
             Ancient
             Loyalty
             :
             A
             Dialogue
             .
             Price
             Six
             Pence
             .
          
           
             7.
             
             The
             World
             Bewitch'd
             .
             A
             Dialogue
             between
             two
             Astrologers
             and
             the
             Author
             .
             With
             Infallible
             Predictions
             of
             what
             will
             happen
             from
             the
             Vices
             and
             Villanies
             Practis'd
             in
             
               Court
               ,
               City
            
             ,
             and
             Country
             .
             Price
             Six
             pence
             .
          
           
             8.
             
             A
             Walk
             to
             Islington
             :
             With
             a
             Description
             of
             New
             
             Tunbridge-Wells
             ,
             and
             Sadler's
             Musick-House
             .
             Price
             Six
             pence
             .
          
           
             9.
             
             The
             Humours
             of
             a
             Coffee-House
             :
             A
             Comedy
             .
             Price
             Six
             Pence
             .
          
           
             10.
             
             A
             Frolick
             to
             Horn-Fair
             .
             With
             a
             Walk
             from
             Cuckold's-Point
             thro'
             Deptford
             and
             Greenwich
             .
             Price
             Six
             pence
             .
          
           
             11.
             
             The
             Dancing-School
             .
             With
             the
             Adventures
             of
             the
             
             Easter-Holy-Days
             .
             Price
             Six
             pence
             .
          
           
             12.
             
             The
             First
             Volume
             of
             the
             LONDON-SPY
             :
             In
             Twelve
             Parts
             .
          
           
             13.
             
             The
             Second
             Volume
             of
             the
             LONDON-SPY
             :
             In
             Six
             Parts
             .
             Price
             Six
             Pence
             each
             ;
             or
             they
             may
             be
             had
             both
             Volumes
             Bound
             together
             ;
             and
             also
             Bound
             with
             the
             rest
             of
             the
             Authors
             Writings
             .
          
           
             14.
             
             The
             Metamorphos'd
             Beau
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             15.
             
             The
             English
             Nun
             :
             Or
             ,
             a
             Comical
             Description
             of
             a
             Nunnery
             .
             With
             the
             Lives
             and
             Intrigues
             of
             the
             Priests
             and
             Nuns
             .
             Price
             Six
             Pence
             .
          
           
             16.
             
             Laugh
             and
             be
             Fat
             :
             Or
             ,
             an
             Antidote
             against
             Melancholy
             .
             Containing
             great
             variety
             of
             Comical
             Intrigues
             in
             Town
             and
             Country
             .
             To
             which
             is
             added
             
               Nine
               Delightful
               Tales
            
             .
             Price
             One
             Shilling
             .
          
           
             17.
             
             A
             Step
             to
             the
             Bath
             :
             With
             a
             Character
             of
             the
             Place
             .
             Price
             Six
             Pence
             .
          
           
             18.
             
             Labour
             in
             Vain
             :
             Or
             ,
             what
             Signifies
             Little
             or
             Nothing
             ,
             viz.
             I.
             The
             Poor
             Mans
             Petition
             at
             Court.
             II.
             Expectation
             of
             Benefit
             from
             a
             Covetous
             Man
             in
             his
             Life
             time
             .
             III.
             The
             Marriage
             of
             an
             Old
             Man
             to
             a
             Young
             Woman
             .
             IV.
             Endeavours
             to
             Regulate
             Mens
             Manners
             by
             Preaching
             or
             Writing
             .
             V.
             Being
             a
             Jacobite
             .
             VI.
             Confining
             an
             Insolvent
             Debtor
             .
             VII
             .
             Promise
             of
             Secrecy
             in
             a
             Conspiracy
             .
             VIII
             .
             An
             Enquiry
             after
             a
             Place
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           THE
           Repenting
           Harlot
           TO
           THE
           
             Insinuating
             Bawd.
          
           
        
         
           
             Most
             Hypocritical
             Beldam
             !
          
        
         
           SVRE
           nothing
           but
           the
           Vilest
           Complication
           of
           all
           manner
           of
           Devilism
           ,
           could
           have
           Acted
           a
           
           Judas's
           part
           with
           so
           much
           subtilty
           ,
           for
           the
           Lucre
           of
           a
           few
           base
           Pence
           ,
           as
           your
           abominable
           self
           ,
           thou
           
             Hodg
             Podge
          
           of
           all
           Wickedness
           ;
           in
           deluding
           a
           poor
           Innocent
           Creature
           ,
           by
           the
           bewitching
           Sorcery
           of
           your
           Insinuating
           Tongue
           ,
           to
           satisfie
           the
           Lust
           of
           an
           Ingrateful
           Sinner
           ,
           to
           her
           whole
           Life's
           Misery
           .
        
         
           I
           am
           Pleas'd
           with
           nothing
           in
           this
           World
           ,
           but
           to
           hear
           the
           Venereal
           Remains
           of
           your
           Juvenal
           Debauches
           ,
           have
           sent
           you
           Packing
           to
           the
           Bath
           ,
           to
           there
           Parboile
           your
           filthy
           Carcase
           ,
           with
           a
           Vain
           hope
           of
           Repairing
           your
           Rotten
           Limbs
           ,
           which
           I
           believe
           the
           best
           Preserver
           of
           Humane
           Bodies
           ,
           is
           unable
           to
           keep
           Alive
           from
           Stinking
           .
           Some
           Cripples
           I
           have
           heard
           ,
           have
           been
           so
           perfectly
           restor'd
           to
           their
           Healthful
           Abilites
           by
           the
           Bath
           ,
           as
           to
           leave
           their
           Crutches
           behind
           'em
           :
           But
           I
           question
           not
           ,
           if
           there
           be
           any
           Justice
           in
           Hot
           Water
           towards
           thee
           ,
           the
           most
           Infamous
           of
           Sinners
           :
           If
           you
           leave
           any
           thing
           behind
           you
           ,
           't
           will
           be
           your
           Nose
           ,
           or
           your
           Shinbones
           ,
           in
           order
           to
           Punish
           you
           ,
           for
           those
           Ills
           which
           you
           have
           not
           been
           Contented
           to
           Practice
           your self
           ,
           but
           to
           draw
           Innocence
           into
           .
        
         
           The
           Sufferings
           and
           Sorrows
           I
           now
           Labour
           under
           ,
           are
           all
           
           owing
           to
           your
           Confounded
           Ladyship
           ,
           and
           your
           Extasies
           of
           Joy
           with
           a
           Pox
           to
           'em
           ,
           (
           for
           so
           I
           've
           found
           'em
           )
           have
           struck
           up
           such
           an
           unextinguishable
           Fire
           in
           my
           most
           Pleasurable
           Apartment
           ,
           that
           I
           fear
           its
           past
           the
           Power
           of
           Tunbridge
           Waters
           ,
           Aqua-Tetrachimagogon
           ,
           or
           the
           Pick-a-dilly
           Engineer
           ,
           to
           stop
           the
           Flames
           from
           consuming
           the
           whole
           miserable
           Tenement
           .
        
         
           My
           Sinful
           Life
           ,
           which
           was
           at
           first
           owing
           to
           your self
           ,
           has
           brought
           me
           Early
           under
           Affliction
           ;
           and
           that
           Affliction
           ,
           I
           thank
           Providence
           ,
           to
           an
           Early
           Repentance
           :
           But
           if
           I
           cannot
           become
           a
           sincere
           Penitent
           ,
           without
           forgiving
           you
           ,
           my
           Vnpardonable
           Enemy
           ,
           who
           first
           seduc'd
           me
           into
           a
           State
           of
           Corruption
           ,
           I
           shall
           certainly
           hazard
           my
           Salvation
           ,
           upon
           a
           breach
           of
           that
           part
           of
           Christianity
           ;
           and
           Dye
           with
           as
           much
           Malice
           towards
           thee
           ,
           the
           betrayer
           of
           my
           Innocence
           ,
           as
           ever
           did
           poor
           Jacobite
           Plotter
           bear
           to
           a
           Confederate
           ,
           who
           first
           drew
           him
           into
           the
           Design
           ,
           and
           afterwards
           ,
           to
           save
           his
           own
           Life
           ,
           hang'd
           him
           upon
           his
           Evidence
           .
        
         
           Vnder
           a
           Serious
           Reflection
           ,
           on
           my
           miserable
           Condition
           at
           Tunbridge
           :
           I
           writ
           the
           following
           Poem
           ,
           which
           I
           have
           Dedicated
           to
           your
           Sinful
           self
           ,
           to
           Remind
           you
           of
           your
           past
           Wickedness
           ;
           and
           to
           Caution
           Young
           Ignorant
           Creatures
           ,
           how
           they
           are
           Deluded
           by
           such
           Insinuating
           Beldams
           ,
           such
           Kidnappers
           of
           Virginity
           ,
           into
           the
           like
           Vnhappiness
           :
           So
           Wishing
           you
           may
           Dye
           in
           a
           Ditch
           ,
           and
           Rot
           like
           a
           Dead
           Horse
           ,
           that
           the
           Boys
           may
           make
           Catsticks
           of
           your
           Legg
           Bones
           ,
           and
           Raisers
           of
           your
           Ribs
           ,
           to
           Play
           at
           Trap
           Ball
           with
           ,
           in
           the
           Bartholomew
           Holy-days
           ,
           I
           Remain
           a
           Miserable
           Wretch
           ,
           and
           your
           Bitter
           Enemy
           till
           Death
           .
        
         
           
             D.
             B.
             
          
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           THE
           Insinuating
           Bawd
           :
           OR
           ,
           THE
           
             Repenting
             Harlot
          
           .
        
         
           
             HAPPY
             was
             I
             ,
             before
             I
             knew
             to
             Sin
             ;
          
           
             All
             Charms
             without
             ,
             all
             Innocence
             within
             ;
          
           
             No
             Hateful
             Envy
             ,
             my
             Content
             withstood
             ;
          
           
             All
             things
             were
             Grateful
             ,
             whilst
             my self
             was
             Good
             :
          
           
             Unsulli'd
             Pleasures
             in
             my
             Bosom
             dwelt
             ,
          
           
             My
             Peaceful
             Soul
             no
             Headstrong
             Passion
             felt
             :
          
           
             No
             Shame
             pursu'd
             ,
             or
             ,
             did
             my
             Mind
             Affright
             ;
          
           
             But
             ev'ry
             Hour
             administred
             Delight
             :
          
           
             Blest
             as
             th'
             Aspiring
             Angels
             ,
             e'er
             they
             Fell
             ;
          
           
             The
             World
             seem'd
             Heaven
             ,
             for
             I
             knew
             no
             Hell.
          
           
             No
             Pride
             or
             Lust
             ,
             my
             Virgin
             Brightness
             Stain'd
             ,
          
           
             Or
             Vicious
             Thoughts
             my
             Virtuous
             Will
             Prophan'd
             :
          
           
             My
             Looks
             and
             Actions
             Artless
             did
             appear
             ;
          
           
             Tho'
             each
             Oblig'd
             ,
             yet
             both
             Unstudy'd
             were
             ;
          
           
             Without
             Design
             ,
             all
             Innocent
             and
             Free
             ;
          
           
             I
             knew
             no
             Sin
             ,
             and
             could
             no
             Curse
             foresee
             .
          
           
             My
             Beauty
             and
             Deportment
             were
             approv'd
             ,
          
           
             By
             th'
             Old
             Applauded
             ,
             by
             the
             Young
             Belov'd
             .
          
           
           
             Thus
             was
             my
             Youth
             by
             Virtue
             's
             Charms
             inspir'd
             ,
          
           
             By
             all
             Respected
             ,
             and
             by
             most
             Admir'd
             ;
          
           
             Proud
             was
             the
             Man
             ,
             and
             Blest
             the
             Happy
             He
             ,
          
           
             That
             could
             obtain
             one
             minutes
             Companie
             ;
          
           
             Which
             then
             to
             the
             false
             Sex
             I
             could
             impart
             ,
          
           
             And
             feel
             no
             Feaverish
             Throbing
             in
             my
             Heart
             .
          
           
             Talk
             of
             Chaste
             Love
             ,
             and
             raise
             no
             ill
             Desire
             ,
          
           
             Toy
             without
             Kindling
             up
             a
             Lustful
             Fire
             ;
          
           
             Could
             Wander
             without
             Fear
             from
             Field
             to
             Grove
             ,
          
           
             And
             think
             of
             nothing
             but
             the
             Name
             of
             Love
             :
          
           
             Yet
             found
             my
             Sweeter
             Innocence
             supply'd
          
           
             The
             want
             of
             Joys
             my
             Tender
             years
             deny'd
             .
          
           
             Thus
             I
             remain
             ▪
             d
             from
             Sinful
             Sorrows
             free
             ,
          
           
             No
             Saint
             on
             Earth
             could
             sure
             more
             Happy
             be
             ;
          
           
             Till
             I
             the
             Term
             of
             Sixteen
             years
             had
             been
          
           
             A
             Faithful
             Subject
             to
             bright
             Virtue
             's
             Queen
             ;
          
           
             And
             then
             my
             own
             Base
             Sex
             seduc'd
             me
             first
             to
             Sin.
          
           
             One
             who
             by
             long
             Experience
             knew
             the
             way
          
           
             To
             raise
             Desires
             would
             Tender
             Youth
             betray
             ,
          
           
             And
             make
             the
             Giddy
             Maid
             ,
             with
             Eager
             haste
             ,
          
           
             Pursue
             those
             Pleasures
             ,
             't
             is
             a
             Crime
             to
             Taste
             .
          
           
             The
             insinuating
             Temptress
             ,
             thus
             began
          
           
             To
             Bribe
             my
             Ears
             ,
             and
             Bend
             my
             Thoughts
             t'wards
             Man.
             
          
        
         
           
             
               Madam
               ,
               Since
               Heav'n
               so
               largely
               has
               bestow'd
            
          
           
             
               On
               you
               those
               Blessings
               ,
               but
               to
               few
               allow'd
               ▪
            
          
           
             
               And
               now
               your
               Charms
               ,
               in
               Natures
               Law
               's
               Vntaught
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Are
               by
               Ripe
               Years
               to
               full
               Perfection
               brought
            
             ;
          
           
             
               'T
               is
               to
               the
               Donor
               sure
               a
               great
               abuse
               ,
            
          
           
             
               When
               grown
               Mature
               ,
               to
               keep
               'em
               back
               from
               Vse
               :
            
          
           
             
               By
               our
               Grave
               Guides
               ,
               how
               often
               are
               we
               told
               ,
            
          
           
             
               How
               much
               the
               Miser
               Sins
               ,
               that
               hoards
               his
               Gold.
            
          
           
           
             
               If
               you
               those
               Charms
               from
               their
               true
               Vse
               Conceal
               ,
            
          
           
             
               You
               're
               doubtless
               Guilty
               of
               as
               great
               an
               Ill.
            
          
           
             
               Beauty
               ,
               like
               Money
               ,
               's
               made
               to
               be
               Employ'd
            
             ;
          
           
             
               And
               not
               by
               Age
               to
               molter
               Vn-enjoy'd
               :
            
          
           
             
               For
               it
               were
               ,
               where
               would
               the
               diff'rence
               be
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Betwixt
               the
               Fairest
               ,
               and
               the
               Homely'st
               She
               ?
            
          
           
             
               The
               soft
               Young
               Damsel
               ,
               with
               her
               Magick
               Eyes
               ,
            
          
           
             
               And
               all
               the
               Charms
               Dame
               Nature
               can
               Devise
               ,
            
          
           
             
               If
               she
               but
               Tempts
               to
               what
               must
               be
               Deny'd
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Imprisons
               Beauty
               by
               a
               Senseless
               Pride
            
             ;
          
           
             The
             Dowdy's
             
               far
               more
               Blest
               ,
               that
               freely
               is
               Enjoy'd
               .
            
          
           
             For
             Niggards
             ,
             
               tho'
               Possest
               with
               useless
               Store
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Thro'
               Willful
               wants
               ,
               Live
               Poorer
               than
               the
               Poor
               :
            
          
           
             
               Consider
               ,
               Child
               ,
               what
               Pity
               it
               would
               be
               ,
            
          
           
             
               That
               Fruit
               like
               yours
               ,
               should
               Wither
               on
               the
               Tree
               :
            
          
           
             
               Those
               Rubie
               Cheeks
               ,
               that
               look
               so
               Fresh
               and
               Gay
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Will
               in
               short
               time
               ,
               if
               not
               Enjoy'd
               ,
               Decay
               .
            
          
           
             
               That
               warm
               Complexion
               ,
               that
               preserves
               the
               Grace
            
          
           
             
               Of
               each
               soft
               Feature
               in
               your
               Lovely
               Face
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Will
               Sickly
               grow
               ,
               and
               Fade
               in
               spight
               of
               Art
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Lest
               the
               Blind
               God
               ,
               soon
               Bleeds
               you
               with
               his
               Dart
               :
            
          
           
             
               See
               how
            
             Lucinda's
             
               Charms
               at
               once
               are
               gone
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Whose
               Eyes
               of
               late
               ,
               with
               so
               much
               Lustre
               shone
            
             ;
          
           
             
               And
               all
               the
               Roses
               that
               her
               Cheeks
               Adorn'd
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Are
               into
               Yellow
               Fading
            
             Tulips
             turn'd
             ;
          
           
             
               Her
               Limbs
               ,
               that
               with
               such
               Air
               and
               Freedom
               mov'd
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Are
               Lazy
               grown
               ,
               unfit
               to
               be
               Belov'd
               :
            
          
           
             
               Her
               deprav'd
               Stomach
               does
               for
               nothing
               Call
               ,
            
          
           
             But
             Cinders
             ,
             Oat-Meal
             ,
             '
             Baccopipes
             ,
             and
             Wall
             :
          
           
             
               Her
               Blood
               's
               Corrupted
               ,
               and
               her
               Breath's
               grown
               Short
            
             ;
          
           
             
               And
               all
               for
               want
               of
               Love's
               Salubrious
               Sport.
            
          
           
           
             
               Therefore
               ,
               Dear
            
             Madam
             ,
             
               don't
               Repent
               too
               Late
            
             ,
          
           
             
               That
               you
               are
               fall'n
               beneath
            
             Lucinda's
             Fate
             ;
          
           
             
               B●●●●se
               the
               happy
               means
               that
               may
               prevent
            
          
           
             
               Those
               Ills
               occasion'd
               by
               severe
               Restraint
               :
            
          
           
             
               Such
               Knowledge
               you
               will
               find
               ,
               such
               Pleasure
               take
            
          
           
             
               In
               the
               first
               Sweet
               Experiment
               you
               make
            
             ;
          
           
             
               You
               'll
               own
               each
               Blissful
               moment
               you
               Employ
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Is
               worth
               an
               Age
               Exempted
               from
               the
               Joy.
            
          
           
             
               Your
               Soul
               will
               find
               an
               Extasie
               so
               great
               ,
            
          
           
             
               What
               now
               you
               Fear
               ,
               you
               'll
               Study
               to
               Repeat
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               Vnexperienc'd
            
             Nymph
             
               that
               's
               Chaste
               and
               Fair
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Does
               but
               the
               Fetters
               of
               Blind
               Ign'rance
               wear
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Whilst
               she
               that
               's
               Wise
               ,
               dissolves
               the
               feeble
               Chain
               ,
            
          
           
             
               By
               Vent'ring
               once
               to
               lose
               what
               's
               kept
               in
               Pain
               .
            
          
           
             
               When
               I
               first
               took
               the
               Counsel
               that
               I
               give
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Such
               Pleasing
               Knowledge
               did
               my
               Soul
               Revive
               ,
            
          
           
             
               I
               'd
               rather
               Feast
               and
               Dye
               ,
               than
               not
               to
               Taste
               and
               Live.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             Madam
             ,
             
               said
               I
            
             ,
             I
             know
             not
             what
             you
             mean
             ,
          
           
             Something
             methinks
             I
             want
             ,
             but
             fear
             to
             Sin
             ;
          
           
             You
             Talk
             of
             Joys
             to
             such
             a
             Blest
             degree
             ,
          
           
             What
             's
             sure
             so
             Pleasant
             ,
             cannot
             Sinful
             be
             ;
          
           
             And
             yet
             methinks
             ,
             who
             'd
             Heavens
             Laws
             Controul
             ,
          
           
             Were
             it
             not
             Pleasure
             that
             beguil'd
             the
             Soul
             ?
          
           
             Barely
             the
             Hopes
             ,
             not
             certainty
             of
             Joy
             ,
          
           
             Did
             Eve
             ,
             amidst
             her
             Innocence
             Decoy
             ;
          
           
             'T
             was
             not
             the
             Fruit
             ,
             but
             what
             the
             Tempter
             said
             ,
          
           
             That
             her
             weak
             Nature
             to
             his
             Will
             Betray'd
             .
          
           
             If
             Talk
             of
             Pleasures
             will
             the
             Mind
             subdue
             ,
          
           
             What
             then
             must
             Joys
             in
             full
             Fruition
             do
             .
          
           
             The
             very
             Words
             are
             Pleasant
             you
             impart
             ,
          
           
             And
             makes
             a
             Wellcome
             Feaver
             in
             my
             Heart
             :
          
           
           
             My
             Soul
             Divided
             ,
             struggles
             hard
             within
             ;
          
           
             Betwixt
             the
             Hopes
             of
             Joy
             ,
             and
             Fear
             of
             Sin
             :
          
           
             A
             warm
             Desire
             thro'
             ev'ry
             Fibre
             glides
             ;
          
           
             Something
             I
             want
             ,
             which
             something
             else
             forbids
             ,
          
           
             What
             't
             is
             you
             've
             made
             me
             Covet
             to
             Possess
             ,
          
           
             Dear
             Madam
             tell
             me
             ,
             for
             I
             cannot
             guess
             .
          
        
         
           
             With
             Looks
             disorder'd
             ,
             I
             approach'd
             more
             nigh
             ,
          
           
             And
             eagerly
             attended
             her
             Reply
             .
          
           
             Finding
             her
             Words
             had
             some
             Impression
             made
             ,
          
           
             She
             took
             me
             by
             the
             Hand
             ,
             and
             thus
             she
             said
             :
          
        
         
           
             Madam
             ,
             
               The
               Joys
               your
               full-blown
               Years
               require
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Are
               Just
               to
               Act
               ,
               and
               Nat'ral
               to
               Desire
               :
            
          
           
             
               'T
               is
               the
               sweet
               Game
               that
               all
               Mankind
               pursue
               ,
            
          
           
             The
             Prince
             ,
             the
             Peasant
             ,
             Priest
             ,
             and
             Poet
             too
             :
          
           
             
               It
               Sweetens
               Life
               in
               every
               Degree
            
             ;
          
           
             Makes
             Crowns
             
               sit
               Easie
               ,
               and
               the
            
             Pen
             
               run
               Free
            
             :
          
           
             
               It
               is
               the
            
             Virgins
             
               Hope
               ,
               the
            
             Wives
             Delight
             ,
          
           
             The
             Business
             
               of
               the
               Day
               ,
               the
            
             Bliss
             
               of
               Night
            
             .
          
           
             
               It
               begets
            
             Frendship
             ,
             
               puts
               an
               end
               to
            
             Strife
             ,
          
           
             
               Is
               the
               Blest
               Warmth
               that
               gives
               the
               World
               new
               Life
               .
            
          
           
             
               Such
               are
               the
               Joys
               ,
               you
               now
               are
               Ripe
               to
               Prove
               ,
            
          
           
             
               I'
               th'
               Sweet
               Embraces
               of
               a
               Man
               you
               Love
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Hugg'd
               in
               his
               Arms
               ,
               if
               Pliable
               and
               Kind
            
             ;
          
           
             
               There
               ,
               there
               ,
               the
               Happy
               Secret
               you
               will
               find
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             But
             Man
             ,
             
               said
               I
            
             ,
             I
             've
             heard
             my
             Mother
             say
             ,
          
           
             Is
             False
             ,
             and
             cannot
             Love
             above
             a
             Day
             ;
          
           
             Will
             Swear
             ten
             thousand
             Lyes
             ,
             to
             be
             Believ'd
             ;
          
           
             And
             Fawn
             ,
             and
             Flatter
             ,
             till
             h'
             has
             one
             Deceiv'd
             :
          
           
             But
             when
             h'
             has
             gain'd
             his
             End
             ,
             inclin'd
             to
             Rove
             ,
          
           
             Slights
             what
             he
             Vow'd
             he
             could
             for
             Ages
             Love.
          
           
             And
             leaves
             the
             Sighing
             Wretch
             he
             has
             betray'd
             ,
          
           
             To
             drown
             in
             Tears
             ,
             the
             false
             kind
             things
             he
             said
             .
          
           
             How
             then
             can
             I
             such
             Happiness
             obtain
             ,
          
           
             From
             Faithless
             Man
             ,
             so
             Fickle
             ,
             and
             so
             Vain
             .
          
           
           
             Methinks
             ,
             I
             only
             could
             the
             Youth
             approve
             ,
          
           
             That
             could
             ,
             like
             me
             ,
             for
             Ever
             ever
             Love
             ;
          
           
             Conform
             to
             th'
             Sacred
             Tye
             ,
             make
             me
             his
             Wife
             ,
          
           
             And
             bind
             himself
             to
             Love
             me
             for
             his
             Life
             :
          
           
             In
             such
             a
             Man
             ,
             I
             'm
             sure
             I
             could
             Delight
             ,
          
           
             Please
             him
             all
             Day
             ,
             and
             Hug
             him
             close
             all
             Night
             .
          
        
         
           
             
               Dear
               Child
            
             ,
             says
             she
             ,
             
               You
               much
               ,
               Alas
               !
               mistake
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Those
               Bonds
               are
               Tiresome
               which
               we
               cannot
               break
               :
            
          
           
             Fear
             ,
             Jealousie
             ,
             and
             Doubt
             ,
             
               Improve
               the
               Bliss
            
             ;
          
           
             
               The
               Pleasure
               's
               Lost
               ,
               when
               Chains
               have
               made
               you
               his
               .
            
          
           
             
               Our
               Sex
               too
               often
               has
               Confest
               ,
               in
               Tears
               ,
            
          
           
             Cupid
             
               withdraws
               ,
               when
               once
               the
            
             Priest
             appears
             :
          
           
             Marriage
             and
             Love
             ,
             
               we
               by
               Experience
               find
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Differ
               like
            
             Freedom
             ,
             and
             Restraint
             ,
             
               in
               kind
            
             ;
          
           
             
               And
               if
               they
               mix
               ,
               't
               is
               with
               much
               Pains
               and
               Toil
               ,
            
          
           
             
               As
               Skilful
            
             Cooks
             ,
             mix
             Vinegar
             with
             Oyl
             .
          
           
             
               Therefore
               in
               Love
               ,
               if
               you
               would
               happy
               be
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Keep
               ,
               whilst
               you
               're
               Youthful
            
             ,
             Unconfin'd
             and
             Free
             :
          
           
             
               And
               if
               your
               weary
            
             Confident
             
               should
               Range
            
             ,
          
           
             
               The
               Bonds
               are
               Void
               ,
               and
               you
               your self
               may
               change
               :
            
          
           
             
               Your
               Love
               ,
               whenever
               your
               Gallant
               has
               Err'd
               ,
            
          
           
             
               May
               to
               another
               justly
               be
               Transferr'd
               :
            
          
           
             
               But
               if
               in
               Wedlocks
               Fetters
               ,
               you
               are
               Bound
               ,
            
          
           
             
               For
               Wrongs
               you
               Suffer
               ,
               no
               Relief
               is
               found
            
             ;
          
           
             Slights
             and
             Neglects
             ;
             nay
             ,
             Blows
             
               perhaps
               endure
            
             ;
          
           
             
               And
               bear
               with
               Patience
               ,
               what
               Revenge
               should
               Cure
               :
            
          
           
             Husbands
             
               maintain
               an
            
             Arbitrary
             Sway
             ,
          
           
             
               Whilst
               the
               Poor
            
             Wife
             must
             Suffer
             ,
             and
             Obey
             ;
          
           
             
               And
               like
               a
               Kingdom
               into
               Slav'ry
               drawn
            
             ;
          
           
             Thro'
             Fear
             ,
             not
             Love
             ,
             
               upon
               her
               Tyrant
               Fawn
            
             .
          
           
             
               Thus
               must
               you
               Study
               (
               tho'
               Opprest
               )
               to
               Please
               ,
            
          
           
             
               All
               other
               means
               are
               worse
               than
               the
               Disease
               .
            
          
           
             Marriage
             ,
             
               as
               us'd
               ,
               is
               but
               a
            
             Womans
             Yoke
             ;
          
           
             
               A
               Knot
               for
               Life
               ,
               too
               Stubborn
               to
               be
               broke
            
             ;
          
           
           
             A
             Prison
             ,
             
               which
               if
               once
               you
               're
               into
               't
               Cast
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Makes
               the
               Sweet
               Fruit
               ,
               but
               Nauseous
               to
               the
               Taste
               .
            
          
           
             
               Therefore
               the
               Freedom
               you
               Enjoy
               ,
               Maintain
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Liberty
               Lost
               ,
               is
               difficult
               to
               Regain
               :
            
          
           
             
               Whilst
               Single
               ,
               you
               may
               many
               Hearts
               subdue
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Discharge
               the
               Faithless
               ,
               and
               Oblige
               the
               True
            
             ;
          
           
             
               If
               tir'd
               with
               Old
               ones
               ,
               change
               'em
               still
               for
               New.
            
          
           
             
               But
               if
               you
               're
               Marry'd
               ,
               you
               're
               at
               once
               undone
               ,
            
          
           
             
               And
               made
               a
               despicable
               Slave
               to
               one
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Your
               Actions
               all
               ,
               are
               Watch'd
               by
               many
               Eyes
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Your
               very
               Servants
               that
               attend
               ,
               are
               Spies
            
             ;
          
           
             
               And
               each
               chance
               Folly
               ,
               tho'
               you
               meant
               no
               hurt
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Is
               made
               Suspicious
               ,
               by
               their
               false
               Report
               .
            
          
           
             
               But
               in
               the
               State
               of
               Freedom
               ,
               you
               're
               at
               Ease
            
             ;
          
           
             
               At
               Leisure
               may
               your self
               or
               others
               Please
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Fear
               no
            
             Reproof
             ,
             
               be
               under
               no
            
             Command
             ;
          
           
             
               List
               who
               you
               Please
               ;
               and
               when
               you
               Please
               ,
               Disband
               :
            
          
           
             
               Gain
               ,
               with
               your
               Smiles
               ,
               fresh
               Conquests
               ev'ry
               hour
            
             ;
          
           
             Hero
             's
             
               themselves
               will
               yield
               to
            
             Beauties
             
               Pleasing
               Power
            
             .
          
        
         
           
             Nature
             b'ing
             Headstrong
             ,
             and
             my
             Virtue
             Weak
             ,
          
           
             Methoughts
             ,
             I
             could
             for
             ever
             hear
             her
             Speak
             ;
          
           
             I
             fond
             of
             Joy
             ,
             and
             Pleas'd
             with
             what
             she
             said
             ,
          
           
             Too
             soon
             Believing
             ,
             was
             too
             soon
             Misled
             .
          
           
             Virtue
             ,
             't
             is
             true
             ,
             some
             Opposition
             gave
             ;
          
           
             But
             Rebel
             Nature
             would
             the
             Conquest
             have
             ;
          
           
             And
             ev'ry
             Vein
             with
             willing
             Warmth
             inspir'd
             ,
          
           
             To
             Play
             it
             's
             part
             in
             what
             the
             whole
             desir'd
             ;
          
           
             B'ing
             Ripe
             and
             Eager
             now
             to
             be
             Undone
             ,
          
           
             I
             to
             my
             Temptress
             thus
             again
             begun
             :
          
        
         
           
             Madam
             ,
             
               said
               I
            
             ,
             But
             where
             's
             the
             Man
             so
             just
             ,
          
           
             With
             whom
             a
             Virgin
             may
             her
             Honour
             trust
             ?
          
           
             Of
             all
             the
             Sex
             ,
             I
             most
             admire
             a
             Beau
             ,
          
           
             But
             fear
             he
             'll
             Boast
             the
             Favours
             I
             bestow
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             to
             a
             Beau
             ,
             I
             could
             my
             Heart
             Resign
             ,
          
           
             He
             Looks
             so
             Prim
             ,
             so
             Pritty
             ,
             and
             so
             Fine
             ;
          
           
             Is
             so
             
               Obliging
               ,
               Complisant
            
             and
             Free
             ;
          
           
             Dances
             ,
             and
             Hums
             about
             so
             Prettilie
             :
          
           
             What
             would
             I
             Give
             ,
             or
             what
             but
             I
             would
             do
             ,
          
           
             Could
             I
             so
             dear
             a
             Creature
             but
             subdue
             ?
          
           
             Oh
             how
             I
             'd
             Love
             him
             ,
             his
             Esteem
             to
             Gain
             ,
          
           
             Methinks
             a
             Beau
             ,
             is
             a
             Delicious
             Man.
             
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             Cunning
             Dame
             ,
             who
             now
             my
             Pulse
             had
             felt
             ,
          
           
             To
             raise
             Desire
             ,
             these
             Pleasing
             Measures
             dealt
             :
          
        
         
           
             
               Madam
               ,
               The
               Pritty'st
               Gentleman
               I
               know
               ,
            
          
           
             
               You
               ever
               saw
               ,
               or
               all
               the
               World
               can
               show
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Whose
               Comely
            
             Stature
             ,
             
               and
               Engaging
            
             Mein
             ,
          
           
             
               Would
               Tempt
               a
            
             Princess
             ,
             
               nay
               ,
               a
            
             Saint
             ,
             
               to
               Sin
            
             ;
          
           
             So
             Brisk
             and
             Youthful
             ,
             Vigorous
             and
             Gay
             ,
          
           
             So
             Courteous
             ,
             and
             Obliging
             
               every
               way
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Earth
               cannot
               sure
               produce
               a
               Maid
               that
               can
            
          
           
             
               Resist
               the
               Charms
               of
               so
               Compleat
               a
               Man
            
             ;
          
           
             
               H'
               has
               seen
               you
               twice
               ,
               I
               've
               heard
               him
               since
               oft
               say
            
             ;
          
           
             
               One
               time
               at
            
             Church
             ,
             
               another
               at
               a
            
             Play
             :
          
           
             
               And
               Vows
               ,
               you
               are
               the
               Sweetest
               Pritty
               Rogue
               ,
            
          
           
             
               That
               Mortal
               Man
               would
               e'er
               desire
               to
               Hugg
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Swears
               he
               could
               Dote
               upon
               your
               Lovely
               Face
               ,
            
          
           
             
               And
               gaze
               all
               day
               upon
               each
               Charming
               Grace
               :
            
          
           
             
               Your
               Eyes
               have
               Prick'd
               his
               Breast
               with
               such
               a
               Dart
               ,
            
          
           
             
               He
               'd
               give
               ten
               thousand
               Worlds
               to
               gain
               your
               Heart
               .
            
          
           
             
               When
               I
               've
               but
               Nam'd
               you
               ,
               he
               has
               seem'd
               so
               glad
            
             ;
          
           
             
               T'wards
               you
               such
               kind
               and
               pritty
               things
               has
               said
               ,
            
          
           
             Sigh'd
             ,
             Stretch'd
             ,
             and
             Vow'd
             ,
             
               he
               always
               could
               adore
            
             ;
          
           
             
               And
               still
               Enjoy
               ,
               yet
               still
               Love
               more
               and
               more
               :
            
          
           
             
               Had
               you
               been
               by
               ,
               you
               could
               have
               done
               no
               less
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Than
               Yeilded
               what
               he
               Covets
               to
               Possess
               :
            
          
           
             
               Against
               such
               Force
               ,
               no
               Virtue
               could
               maintain
            
          
           
             
               Its
               Ground
               ,
               Oh
               ,
               he
               's
               a
               wond'rous
               pritty
               Man
               !
            
          
        
         
           
             This
             false
             Suggestion
             ,
             set
             me
             all
             on
             Fire
             ;
          
           
             And
             turn'd
             my
             Fears
             into
             a
             Strong
             Desire
             :
          
           
             Her
             
               Verbal
               Witchcraft
            
             did
             my
             Heart
             subdue
             ;
          
           
             And
             made
             me
             Languish
             ,
             for
             I
             know
             not
             who
             .
          
        
         
           
             Madam
             ,
             
               said
               I
            
             ,
             But
             when
             shall
             I
             obtain
             ,
          
           
             A
             Sight
             of
             this
             sweet
             Miracle
             of
             Man
             ;
          
           
             And
             do
             you
             think
             he
             Loves
             me
             ?
             Yes
             ,
             said
             she
             ,
          
           
             O
             then
             thought
             I
             ,
             how
             happy
             shall
             I
             be
             ;
          
           
             
               Handsome
               ,
               Obliging
               ,
               Young
            
             ,
             not
             given
             to
             Rove
             :
          
           
             Such
             a
             dear
             Man
             ,
             I
             could
             for
             ever
             Love
             :
          
           
             O
             let
             me
             see
             him
             ,
             and
             the
             Youth
             shall
             find
             ,
          
           
             If
             he
             'll
             be
             true
             ,
             I
             'll
             Study
             to
             be
             kind
             .
          
        
         
           
             When
             the
             Dame
             found
             ,
             she
             my
             Consent
             had
             won
             ,
          
           
             And
             I
             was
             thus
             inclin'd
             to
             be
             undone
             .
          
           
           
             
               Put
               on
               your
            
             Hood
             and
             Scarf
             ,
             
               dear
               Child
            
             ,
             says
             she
             ,
          
           
             
               I
               'll
               make
               you
               Happy
               ;
               come
               along
               with
               me
               ,
            
          
           
             
               And
               you
               shall
               see
               ,
               e'er
               a
               few
               hours
               be
               Past
               ,
            
          
           
             
               The
               Lovely
               Tree
               ,
               and
               it
               's
               sweet
               Fruit
               shall
               Taste
               :
            
          
           
             
               Do
               you
               but
               like
               the
               Charming
               Youth
               be
               kind
               ,
            
          
           
             
               And
               you
               this
               Night
               ,
               a
               Blissful
               Heav'n
               shall
               find
               :
            
          
           
             
               Your
               Soul
               shall
               surfeit
               with
               Delights
               unknown
               ,
            
          
           
             
               And
               Sum
               up
               all
               the
               Joys
               on
               Earth
               in
               one
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Like
             our
             first
             Mother
             I
             was
             Loth
             to
             miss
             ,
          
           
             What
             false
             Report
             had
             render'd
             such
             a
             Bliss
             :
          
           
             But
             with
             my
             best
             Attire
             ,
             my
             Charms
             improv'd
             ,
          
           
             Fed
             with
             vain
             hopes
             of
             b'ing
             the
             more
             belov'd
             ;
          
           
             
               Wash
               ,
               Powder
               ,
               Patches
            
             ,
             all
             th'
             alluring
             Arts
             ,
          
           
             Practic'd
             by
             Ladies
             to
             ensnare
             Mens
             Hearts
             .
          
           
             Thus
             did
             I
             Labour
             (
             Curse
             upon
             the
             Day
             )
          
           
             To
             Tempt
             that
             Breast
             ,
             wherein
             the
             Serpent
             lay
             :
          
           
             Wretch
             that
             I
             am
             ,
             was
             hasty
             to
             destroy
          
           
             My
             whole
             Life's
             Comfort
             for
             a
             moments
             Joy.
          
           
             So
             Insects
             fly
             to
             Flames
             which
             they
             should
             shun
             ,
          
           
             And
             fond
             of
             Light
             ,
             are
             by
             the
             Fire
             undone
             ;
          
           
             When
             drest
             ,
             some
             Checks
             within
             my
             Soul
             I
             found
             ,
          
           
             But
             flowing
             Vice
             ,
             the
             Gardian
             Angel
             drown'd
             :
          
           
             A
             Storm
             of
             Lust
             had
             so
             enrag'd
             my
             Blood
             ,
          
           
             Alas
             ,
             I
             could
             not
             Listen
             to
             my
             Good.
          
           
             When
             thus
             Equip'd
             ,
             we
             made
             our
             next
             approach
             ,
          
           
             To
             the
             Street
             Door
             ,
             and
             becken'd
             to
             a
             Coach.
          
           
             My
             base
             Conductress
             did
             Directions
             give
             ,
          
           
             And
             bid
             the
             Churl
             ,
             to
             th'
             inward
             Temple
             drive
             ;
          
           
             Where
             Liv'd
             my
             unknown
             Love
             ,
             so
             Gay
             and
             Fine
             ,
          
           
             Before
             made
             Privy
             to
             the
             Curs'd
             design
             :
          
           
             When
             I
             alas
             ,
             to
             th'
             Sinful
             Mansion
             came
             ;
          
           
             My
             Pulse
             beat
             high
             ,
             my
             Cheeks
             were
             Dy'd
             with
             Shame
             :
          
           
             She
             knock'd
             ,
             and
             such
             an
             Angel
             let
             us
             in
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             out-side
             out-shone
             all
             I
             'd
             ever
             seen
             :
          
           
             His
             Gown
             with
             Red
             ,
             Blew
             ,
             Yellow
             Stripes
             was
             crost
             ,
          
           
             Gaudy
             as
             Flame
             in
             a
             hard
             Winters
             Frost
             ;
          
           
             Clad
             in
             the
             Morning
             Trapings
             of
             a
             Bean
             ;
          
           
             He
             Bow'd
             ,
             and
             Cring'd
             ,
             and
             made
             a
             Lovely
             show
             :
          
           
           
             His
             Lips
             as
             soft
             as
             Leaves
             of
             Roses
             felt
             ,
          
           
             His
             Breath
             ,
             like
             an
             Arabian
             Garden
             Smelt
             .
          
           
             From
             his
             kind
             Tongue
             all
             Love
             and
             Sweetness
             flow'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             ev'ry
             gentle
             touch
             his
             hand
             bestow'd
             ,
          
           
             Made
             a
             strange
             Ebolition
             in
             my
             Blood.
          
           
             He
             brought
             forth
             Sack
             ,
             and
             Drank
             ,
             but
             I
             deny'd
             ,
          
           
             Till
             begging
             he
             prevail'd
             ,
             and
             I
             Comply'd
             .
          
           
             Thus
             Enter'd
             ,
             the
             Procuress
             took
             her
             Leave
             ;
          
           
             That
             she
             'd
             return
             ,
             did
             an
             Assurance
             give
             ;
          
           
             Feign'd
             business
             ,
             and
             intreated
             me
             to
             stay
             ,
          
           
             Whilst
             she
             dispatch'd
             Affairs
             some
             other
             way
             :
          
           
             Rid
             of
             her
             Presence
             ,
             he
             began
             his
             Court
             ;
          
           
             Hugg'd
             me
             ,
             and
             Kiss'd
             me
             ,
             till
             my
             Breath
             grew
             short
             ;
          
           
             Call'd
             me
             
               Fair
               Angel
            
             ,
             and
             his
             
               Charming
               Saint
            
             ,
          
           
             Smother'd
             with
             Kisses
             ,
             I
             began
             to
             Faint
             ;
          
           
             Was
             sometimes
             Cold
             ,
             and
             then
             again
             grew
             hot
             ,
          
           
             Panted
             and
             Trembled
             ,
             at
             I
             knew
             not
             what
             .
          
           
             In
             this
             disorder
             by
             indecent
             Force
             ,
          
           
             He
             something
             did
             that
             made
             me
             ten
             times
             worse
             ;
          
           
             With
             all
             my
             Might
             ,
             I
             struggl'd
             ;
             but
             half
             Dead
             ,
          
           
             With
             his
             strong
             Armes
             ,
             he
             tost
             me
             on
             his
             Bed
             ;
          
           
             Where
             o'er
             his
             Victim
             he
             Triumphant
             got
             ,
          
           
             And
             did
             'twixt
             Pain
             and
             Pleasure
             ,
             Heav'n
             knows
             what
             :
          
           
             When
             thus
             Corrupted
             with
             the
             first
             Delight
             ,
          
           
             He
             then
             perswaded
             me
             to
             stay
             all
             Night
             ,
          
           
             I
             yeilded
             ,
             but
             the
             false
             seducing
             Dame
             ▪
          
           
             Regardless
             of
             her
             Treach'rous
             word
             ne'er
             came
             ;
          
           
             At
             first
             he
             prov'd
             all
             Love
             ;
             I
             too
             was
             kind
             ,
          
           
             Expecting
             still
             more
             Joys
             than
             I
             could
             find
             :
          
           
             But
             when
             few
             hours
             was
             spent
             ,
             he
             turn'd
             his
             Back
             ,
          
           
             And
             grew
             ,
             methoughts
             ,
             
               Cold
               ,
               Negligent
            
             ,
             and
             Slack
             :
          
           
             I
             call'd
             him
             dear
             ,
             but
             could
             not
             make
             him
             Speak
             ;
          
           
             I
             Hugg'd
             him
             ,
             Tugg'd
             him
             ,
             but
             he
             would
             not
             Wake
             :
          
           
             I'
             th'
             Morning
             Early
             ,
             by
             the
             break
             o'
             th'
             day
             ,
          
           
             He
             roughly
             told
             me
             ,
             that
             I
             must
             not
             stay
             ;
          
           
             I
             much
             asham'd
             arose
             ,
             and
             Weeping
             went
             away
             .
          
           
             I
             Vex●d●and
             Angry
             to
             be
             thus
             Misus'd
             ,
          
           
             Though
             as
             I
             found
             ,
             I
             'd
             been
             by
             both
             abus'd
             ;
          
           
           
             Discov'ring
             ,
             when
             too
             late
             ,
             the
             Jilting
             Dame
          
           
             Sold
             me
             to
             quench
             the
             Leachers
             Lustful
             Flame
             :
          
           
             And
             went
             wi'th
             '
             Judas
             Pence
             ,
             she
             'd
             basely
             gain'd
          
           
             To
             th'
             Bath
             ,
             to
             have
             her
             Rotten
             Corps
             new
             clean'd
             ;
          
           
             There
             Stew
             her
             Crazy
             Limbs
             ,
             with
             a
             Vain
             thought
          
           
             Of
             Curing
             Pains
             her
             Youthful
             Sins
             begot
             .
          
        
         
           
             When
             enter'd
             thus
             ,
             I
             th'
             tempting
             Vice
             pursu'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             from
             my
             first
             Corruption
             grew
             more
             Lew'd
             ;
          
           
             Till
             by
             Promiscuous
             use
             ,
             I
             found
             in
             th'
             end
             ,
          
           
             The
             Sowrest
             Pains
             ,
             the
             Sweetest
             Sins
             attend
             :
          
           
             Such
             Poisonous
             Ulcers
             did
             my
             Crimes
             ensue
             ;
          
           
             I
             nauseous
             to
             my self
             and
             others
             grew
             :
          
           
             Thus
             were
             my
             Pleasures
             punish'd
             with
             a
             Curse
             ;
          
           
             No
             Leprosie
             of
             Job
             ,
             could
             sure
             be
             worse
             ;
          
           
             My
             Blood
             did
             into
             Loathsome
             Issues
             melt
             ;
          
           
             The
             parts
             that
             Sin'd
             the
             most
             ,
             most
             Torment
             felt
             .
          
           
             Beneath
             these
             Miseries
             ,
             I
             to
             Tunbridge
             went
             ,
          
           
             Backward
             to
             Dye
             ,
             but
             willing
             to
             Repent
             ;
          
           
             In
             hopes
             the
             cooling
             Waters
             would
             have
             eas'd
             ,
          
           
             Or
             quench'd
             those
             Fires
             ,
             my
             stubborn
             Lust
             had
             rais'd
             .
          
           
             But
             when
             I
             found
             the
             Wells
             yeild
             no
             Relief
             ,
          
           
             My
             hopes
             were
             turn'd
             into
             Despair
             ,
             and
             Grief
             .
          
           
             I
             then
             reflecting
             on
             my
             wretched
             State
             ,
          
           
             In
             Tears
             ,
             did
             with
             my self
             thus
             Ruminate
             :
          
           
             Alas
             what
             am
             I
             !
             whither
             am
             I
             stray'd
             ?
          
           
             By
             Lust
             and
             Pride
             ,
             from
             Virtues
             Paths
             missed
             :
          
           
             What
             shameful
             shadows
             of
             my
             Guilt
             draw
             near
             ?
          
           
             How
             Black
             and
             Monst'rous
             ,
             do
             my
             Ills
             appear
             ?
          
           
             My
             thoughts
             ,
             like
             Ghastly
             Fiends
             ,
             my
             Soul
             affright
             ,
          
           
             And
             threaten
             her
             with
             sad
             Destruction's
             Night
             :
          
           
             How
             Pale
             and
             Yellow
             ,
             these
             poor
             Cheeks
             are
             grown
             ,
          
           
             Which
             once
             look'd
             fresh
             ,
             as
             Roses
             newly
             Blown
             ?
          
           
             How
             Lank
             my
             Breasts
             ,
             how
             Nauseous
             is
             my
             Breath
             ?
          
           
             O
             where
             's
             my
             only
             kind
             Physician
             ,
             Death
             ?
          
           
             How
             happy
             was
             I
             once
             ,
             when
             I
             was
             free
          
           
             From
             Sinful
             Thought
             ,
             from
             Shame
             and
             Miserie
             ;
          
           
             When
             ev'ry
             Eye
             my
             spotless
             Charms
             admir'd
             ,
          
           
             Enjoying
             all
             my
             Virtuous
             Life
             requir'd
             ?
          
           
           
             Where
             are
             the
             Flatt'rers
             ,
             that
             my
             Love
             pursu'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             would
             have
             giv'n
             whole
             Worlds
             to
             do
             me
             good
             ?
          
           
             Alas
             ,
             too
             late
             ,
             to
             my
             sad
             Grief
             I
             find
             ,
          
           
             'T
             was
             Innocence
             alone
             made
             all
             things
             kind
             :
          
           
             Sweet
             Innocence
             ,
             that
             can
             it self
             defend
             ,
          
           
             And
             make
             ill-Natur'd
             Envy
             prove
             it's
             Friend
             :
          
           
             Bright
             Innocence
             ,
             thou
             Blest
             and
             Charming
             Dove
             ,
          
           
             Whom
             ev'ry
             Mortal
             must
             Admire
             and
             Love
             ;
          
           
             When
             thee
             I
             lost
             ,
             my
             Guardian
             Angel
             fled
             ,
          
           
             And
             ever
             since
             ,
             I
             've
             been
             unhappy
             made
             .
          
           
             Lust
             in
             thy
             Absence
             ,
             got
             the
             Upper-hand
             ,
          
           
             And
             made
             me
             Servile
             to
             its
             base
             Command
             :
          
           
             O
             that
             I
             'd
             been
             but
             some
             poor
             Bargeman's
             Wife
             ,
          
           
             T
             o've
             Lugg'd
             and
             Tugg'd
             ,
             at
             the
             great
             Oar
             for
             Life
             :
          
           
             Or
             what
             is
             worse
             ,
             had
             been
             a
             Botchers
             Spouse
             ,
          
           
             T
             o've
             Mended
             nitty
             Coats
             ,
             and
             stinking
             Hose
             ;
          
           
             For
             one
             Days
             Living
             ,
             to
             have
             two
             Days
             Starv'd
             ,
          
           
             So
             that
             my
             Health
             and
             Virtue
             ,
             I
             'd
             preserv'd
             ;
          
           
             I
             'd
             been
             more
             happy
             than
             the
             fairest
             she
             ,
          
           
             That
             L
             〈…〉
             Libertie
             .
          
           
             Curse
             on
             the
             Female
             Tongue
             ,
             that
             drew
             me
             in
             ;
          
           
             And
             for
             base
             Lucre
             ,
             Taught
             me
             first
             to
             Sin
             :
          
           
             May
             her
             Nose
             fall
             ,
             her
             Reines
             and
             Shinbones
             Rot
             ,
          
           
             And
             begging
             without
             pitty
             be
             her
             Lot
             :
          
           
             May
             her
             Vile
             Womb
             Incessant
             Fury
             have
             ;
          
           
             And
             her
             Limbs
             drop
             by
             piece-meal
             to
             the
             Grave
             :
          
           
             And
             may
             that
             Man
             ,
             that
             brib'd
             her
             to
             seduce
          
           
             Me
             Wretched
             Creature
             ,
             to
             his
             Beastly
             Use
             ,
          
           
             Be
             Doom'd
             the
             only
             Stallion
             to
             her
             Lust
             ,
          
           
             Till
             Pox
             and
             Age
             ,
             dry
             both
             into
             a
             Crust
             .
          
           
             Ladies
             beware
             ▪
             let
             Miserable
             me
          
           
             The
             sad
             Example
             of
             a
             Harlot
             be
             :
          
           
             Let
             not
             Loose
             Women
             Tempt
             you
             to
             the
             Hook
             ,
          
           
             With
             which
             themselves
             unwarily
             were
             took
             ;
          
           
             For
             if
             you
             're
             once
             betray'd
             ,
             you
             'll
             surely
             find
             ,
          
           
             You
             're
             Curs'd
             from
             the
             first
             moment
             you
             are
             Kind
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
  

