The Frontispiece explained.  

BEhold, the Watchman of the black-browed Night,  
Who overlooks his charge, by candlelight.  
The brats of Hell, by turns do take their places,  
To justify their Sins, and plead their cases.  
One would be chief, another comes to craveit:  
But he that's nearest Hell, is like to have it.  
This taken most pains, that other gave a price;  
The Umpire pleaseth all with his device.   

The Whore has caught a Gull, (her Scores to pay,)  
That Huddles on, to sell himself away.  
He leaves his Wife, and Children in distress,  
Pimp-wiskin jeers 'em in their heaviness.   

The Ruffian-Prodigall, that here you see,  
Is come to pay a fine for misery.  
He's in the heat of lust: and he must have  
Fuel from Hell to feed it, or a Grave.   

But shame and want have cooled the lust, and pride  
O'th' outworn Varlet on the other side.  
His sinful sweets congealed into a curse.   

Look but a little lower, they are worse:  
Where from their sins, into their pains they shall,  
Suffering the tortures of the Hospital:  
One hath his Scull took up, to cleanse his brains  
The next is lanced in her bloodless veins,  
And some are boiling, while the rest do fry:  
(All have a taste of Hell, before they die.)   

The house that entertained the fouler crew,  
Fals, piecemeal down, to render them their due,  
Here's one amazed, another has a main,  
There's one half dead, lies by another slain.   

Both houses punish those that scined unseen:  
In fine, see how the Devil flies between   

A NIGHT'S SEARCH: Discovering the Nature, and condition of NIGHT— WALKERS with their associates. digested into a Poem by Hum: Mill.  
nocte Latent Mendoe  
London: Printed by R: Bishop. for L: B: 1640    

A NIGHT'S SEARCH. Discovering the Nature and Condition of all sorts of NIGHTWALKERS; with their Associates. As also, The Life and Death of many of them. Together with Divers fearful and strange Accidents, occasioned by such ill livers.  
Digested into a Poem By HUMPHREY MILL.  
Nocte latent mendae; sic sic dixere Poetae;  
Ast ego (nec mendax) nocte dieque patent.  
LONDON, Printed by Richard Bishop for Laurence Blaicklock at the Sugarloaf next Temple-bar, 1640.   

To the Right honourable, ROBERT Earl of Effex, Viscount Hereford, and Bouchier, Lord Ferrer of Chartley, Bouchier, and Louvain.  
RIGHT HONOURABLE,  
I Could hardly compose my thoughts, touching the presentation of these my unworthy endeavours, to one so worthy, and truly noble as your Lordship, having no excuse but your goodness, and the encouragement of those who are truly honourers of your virtues: Among which number I desire to be known. I have nothing to plead for my Muse, but that the Subject with the Title, do agree: And that the fruit she bears, is wholesome, though sour. That which falls with shaking, is not worth taking up. I know I shall undergo the censure of some, that can Judge of nothing but what they see; having narrow spirits, only room for sense at the worst. In respect of such, my Muse was safer walking by Night; than now by Day. But if it shall please your Lordship to support her with your hand, and look upon that little good which may appear through a multiplying glass, and extenuate the weakness, Envy herself will keep at a distance; and she shall pass with freedom, gaining commendations from your Honour's Approbation. She's so far adorned with modesty amongst her Opposites, that she will not bespeak a glance from your eye, but when you be retired from more weighty occasions. If I should write but what high-born Fame speaks of your worth, and call your noble Virtues by their names, I should make the entrance so pleasing-large, that the Reader would there take up his rest. But it shall be satisfaction to me, that she's graced with your name: which will preserve her from living graves. And with my prayers to the God of Truth, for your Lordship's eternal happiness,  
I shall rest your most engaged and humble servant, HUMPHREY MILL.   

To the Reader.  
COURTEOUS READER:  
(I Name thee as I would find thee) having had thoughts which often pressed me to the undertaking of this neglected subject, (not as sinful, but neglected in the discovery) I could not choose but give entertainment (at last) to so reasonable a motion: yet not intending to make a work of it, but only to give a few hints for warning, and Characters to know those devouring locusts, who strive to spoil all the green plants of the land.  
But as I pursued some of them in the chase, I started more of the brood; and the further I went, the more I found, till at last, I saw necessity of adding resolution and courage to my purpose; and to search them out for punishment, which some have done for pleasure. I found many fearful exploits amongst them, which being but abridged, made these papers swell into such a thickness. Those that are resolved to follow their lusts, regarding nothing, or spoke or writ, let them not pass the front of this Book, lest they be tormented before their time: and suck poison till they burst. I know some like snarling Curs will bite the Chain, though they break their teeth; and bawl at what they understand not; quarrel with their own shadows, or bark at the man in the Moon. The painted doxies, and the musk-powd'red Courtesans will be as angry with me, as Pallas was with the Mice, for haunting her lamp, and gnawing her call: and others will cast out smoke and lightning, as Saturnus did among the Armies of the Frogs and Mice: but I would wish them (as a friend) to say little, what e'er they think, lest they bespeak a smarter whip for themselves. Those that can digest the sour, need not fear sursetting with the sweet. Let every reader take what belongs to himself, and pass a gentle Censure on the rest. The sharpness of it is qualified, where advice takes place, and there are none that read but may gain, or delight, or profit, more or less, if they stand not in their own light. I have used their own language in some places to set out their folly. Though every Phrase or Sentence be not composed of real truth, yet there is a probability or morality of truth in all. I need not show how a Metaphorical, Analogical, or an Allegorical speech retains truth; or how the figures lead to the substance; or of the liberty of speech that Poetry affords: In this I had rather learn than teach. I have not used knotty words, nor rocky expressions in the prosecution of it; but in as suitable terms, as my slender wit, with so little art, can conceive. Perhaps, the best may find more than they expect; and the worst more than they desire. My Muse hath kept herself from infection, notwithstanding the many temptations, occasions, provocations that she hath met withal in her search. I suppose. Envy itself will not question the lawfulness of the sub●ect; seeing the Prophets in divers places describe Harlots in their kind; and Solomon that wise King, in their looks, gestures, speeches, fawning, alluring, etc. before he had any practical experience of them. But if any ask why must I undertake such a work? I answer; why should not any man use the gifts that he hath received to profit himself or others? especially if delight put him upon it? or if his occasions impose not a necessiy of other employments upon him? I was never so bound to any but I could purchase some time to raise my Genius above these earthly contents below. For the verses, I have kept to one number and measure, only the Epitaphs are woven stanza's: In a continued subject, it is not proper to vary the verse.  
I have laboured to make the lines so smooth as I could, in placing the breathing accents where they may fall with most advantage, (except those which run clean without them) nor have I broke the first, or last foot of the verse, which might make it run harsh, nor strained the coupling accents above what is required in the harmony: nor fallen too low in the descent, which might give the verse an unnatural sound, where the concord's should chiefly meet.  
If you find any verse a syllable too short in the number, then compare the measure with it; for if there be a monosyllable that sounds long upon the letter [r] it will answer to a Spondey, or a Trochey, consisting of two syllables; especially in the breathing or the coupling accents. If any seem too long, observe but the cadence, which may fall a syllable longer in the coupling, yet answer with a true sound: or cl it may fall low, that a Dactyle which consists of three syllables, bears but the sound of two: and many words consisting of two, three, four, or five syllables, do naturally fall a syllable shorter in the pronunciation; or being cut short by Apostrophes, 'twill resolve the doubt. I commit my Muse to your care; her colour's black and white, you may trust her: she has been purged in the Search, and pressed for revealing secrets; she'll both give and take warning by it, and wisheth the Reader to do the like.  
Vale.   

Imprimatur: SAM: BAKER. 1640.   


To his much respected brother, Master HUMPHREY MILI, upon his Poem called A Night's Search.  
WHen I perused thy smooth and lofty strains,  
In this thy Search, th' invention of thy brains,  
Thy curious language with thy pleasing stile,  
How thou dost praise the honest, lash the vile:  
And how thy verses meet, how neatly pointed,  
How cleanly limbed, and how exactly jointed;  
I could not but commend them; all may see  
That Nature hath been prodigal to thee.  
The best of wit is thine, 'tis still thy bent  
To shame the shameless, clear the innocent.  
Thou dost in all, so lively act thy part;  
Mine eyes did brive mine ears to steal my heart.   

Thou hast not borrowed what was at a stand,  
Nor took up fancies at the second hand;  
Nor vamped an old conceit; nor didst thou sit  
To stuff in empty words, in stead of wit.  
Thy wealthy winged raptures breathe delight  
To modest minds; thy end is to affright  
All from those odious sins: thou hast displayed  
The various ways how Young ling are betrayed,  
Not like to those that sufet with their bays,  
Whose names are far more lasting than their praise.   

Those that will twist a wreath for thee,  
Must crop the branches of the Cypress tree.  
The ancient Poets live in thee again,  
To add a lasting glory to thy pen.  
Grace beautifies thy parts; but why didst hide  
Thy worth so long? 'cause thou wouldst not be tried,  
By this decrepit age? rich is thy rhyme;  
Thy wisdom speaks thee old, before thy time.   

'Though those despise thee (that exceptions take)  
Whose tongues are dipped in the infernal lake:  
The best will honour thec; and thou shalt find  
Their breath perfumed; thou art not turned with wind,   

I thought to chide, but this is all I'll say  
Thou cam'st behind, to steal the wit away.  
But I forgive thee: for I doc discern,  
Conceited Wits may come to thee and learn.  
Though of our name time should the ruin be,  
'Twill be revived perpetually in thee.  
I needs must love thce, Nature counts it fit:  
But reason moves me, to admire thy wit.   

Keep off, you vassals that are wed to lust,  
Or here's a Mill will grind you all to dust  
THO: MILL Mr of Arts. Oxon.   

To my adopted son Mr HUMPHREY MILL, touching his Night's Search.  
IN all Night Search ' what can you find  
But humour, vapour, smoke, and wind?  
Of real goodness than the best.  
Is for the most part laid to rest.  
They only, whom black night applauds,  
As strumpets, panders, thiefs, and bawds,  
Are open-eyed; and then each meets  
To couple pairs in moechall sheets:  
Who, lest their guilt should come to view,  
Have Sentinels that lie perdue,  
To keep the viperous brood, such hatch  
Both from the Constable, and Watch.   

Now, lest these should too much abuse  
Th'uncautelous world; thy pregnant Muse  
Hath laid them to the light so plain,  
That by the raptures of thy brain,  
(If thou son Mill, pursue it still,  
And dip in Helicon thy quill;)  
Not one of those thou dost display,  
Shall dare to show their face by day.   

So let those Bats, and Owls that night  
Love only, and detest the light,  
Into Cimmerian darkness run:  
For sin did never love the Sun.  
More shamed by thy discovery: know,  
The Lapidary to make show  
Of his best and most orient stone,  
A dusky foil it sets upon,  
To add to th' lusire; so thy Muse  
To make its splendour show, did choose  
This Argument black and obscure,  
To make thy fulgence long endure.  
THO: HEYWOOD.   

To his kind friend, Master HUMPHREY MILL, upon his special lines of Poetry, called A Night's Search.  
MY kind friend, give me leave to tell you news,  
I never in my life was in a Stews:  
Nor ever visited a house of sin,  
Unless to cure the grinkhams they were in.  
I never did by Women set such store,  
To leave men's company to see a whore.  
Panders and bawds to me have strangers been;  
For such procurers, I have never seen  
With knowing eyes: till in your book I found them,  
Where you have apprehended them and bound them  
To answer for their facts: so, truth to tell,  
Your book's no bawdy house, but a Bridewell.  
Where they meet punishments upon their merit,  
For which your pains do a just praise inherit.   

And may all such as lead a life so ill,  
Be daily chastised with the labouring Mill.  
STEPH: BRADWELL.   

To his loving friend, the Author of this Night's Search.  
FRiend, how comes this about? what humorous fit  
Moved thee to make a Constable of thy wit?  
Not such as the grave Parish yearly choose  
To lead a drowsy Watch, and take abuse  
From every drunken gallant: dare not fight,  
But when he's guarded on th' election night,  
Made valiant by the feast; and pays for's cheer  
With the shared profits of the following year.  
That only makes discovery in the dark,  
T' enrich the Justice, and maintain his olarke.  
But thou art one (being busy in thy part)  
Who ord'rest all with Judgement and with Art.  
In one Nights Search thou hast discovered more,  
Than all the Searchers that have been before.   

And which is more, as I believe, dost show  
Such vice which thy life's practice ne'er did know.  
Thy Muse being chaste, and every flowing line  
Carr'ing a sense, or moral, or divine,  
If understood; though many a clouded mind  
Will not the clearness of th' intention find.  
This subject handled by a Blade o'th' times,  
That knows to court his lass in bawdy rhymes,  
Would have been rendered odious; he'd have shown:  
The wicked ills experience made his own.   

But thy clean working, on a matter foul,  
Hath made those ills instruction to the soul.  
Examples doe'the wicked chiefly fright,  
And nothing's known but by its opposite.   

The bad, like Spiders, gather in those fields  
Their poison, which to good bees honey yields.  
THO: NABBS.   

To his kind friend Master HUMPHREY MILL.  
UPon thy Search by night, a Search by day  
Is made by some; who from thy title say,  
What Search should this be? what strange things are done,  
That from the glimmering candle to the Sun  
Are now to be produced? sure, some punk,  
Some bawd half-stewed, some snuffling pander drunk,  
Some satin pimp; some plush docoy: me thinks  
I see the chain made up of all these links,  
With ningle, broker, breaker: and to catch  
All these, one man's both Constable and Watch.   

And what's all this? must we commend the wit  
That spends dear time, and its own strength to sit  
O'er such a brood as this? the subject's base,  
We rather fear, than hope: but pause a space;  
And here conceive, the Artists curious hand  
May, in'ts impression, at his pleasure stand  
In pure, or common matter: yet must shine  
In what soe'er receives it: so thy line  
In those course trifles. Briefly, we commend  
Not from fair shows, and seeming, but the end  
Which wise men still begin withal; begin  
With th' Authors end, which is the cure of sin,  
By ugly sins presentment: and we then  
Shall nothing doubt, but you'll commend his pen.   

Cherish in's Search his labouring Muse, and still  
Wish all fair winds breathe o'rethiss noble Mill.  
THO: BREWER.   

Upon the Book, and Author of the Night's Search.  
MAny do search and yet for want of light  
Are able to discover nothing right:  
If thou hadst wanted light, or sight, even then  
Thy Search had been like that of other men.  
But being guided by a shining light,  
And making use of that thy piercing sight,  
Thou hast in this one Night, discovered more  
Than all thy days, thou ever didst before,   

Here thou hast found out whores, thiefs, bawds & panders,  
Together with their vassals, and commanders;  
And in their lively colours, hast discrid,  
And painted forth their luxury and pride.  
Their cursed traffic for th' infernal pit,  
And their great labour, more and more to get  
Into the mouth of hell; till all at the last  
They and their consorts thereinto are cast.   

Good ears will listen to thy learned verse  
With approbation; and good tongues rehearse  
Thy just deserved praise; as for the rest,  
That have infected ears, and tongues to jest  
At what they understand not; let them still  
Be slighted by thee, most Heroic Mill.  
THO: GOODEARE Curiae Wardorum.   

On the variety of pleasing fancies in the Poem, the Night Search, written by his friend Mr. HUMPHREY MILL.  
YOu that have skill and poetry great store,  
That when a line's well drawn how slubberdo're,  
Are Patentees of censure, whose high strains,  
Do rack the dull perusers lumpish brains  
To keep pace with your raptures; deign awhile,  
To listen to the smooth and modest stile  
Of this industrious Muse, whose merits may  
(With your joynt-vote) adorn his brows with bay.   

You loser livers who applaud a line  
Outdoes the ribald draughts of Aretine;  
In whose debauched opinions naught will please  
But what is writ in height of wine, and ease,  
Whose spleens are tickeld only at the height,  
With some too lust full passage; but will slight  
What's modest and severe; whose searching eye  
Graciously smiles on vainer ribaldry:  
And by your approbation, praise those lines,  
Which both disgrace and eke infect the times.  
Draw near and read, perchance you may descry  
What may reclaim you from your luxury.  
Observe the tricks of the licentious crew,  
And with what wiles they plot to ruin you.  
Here, see the various cheats at full displayed,  
How ofttimes by their plots youth is betrayed;  
Suppose yourselves into like dangers drawn;  
Take heed, take heed, your credit lies at pawn.   

Read and be wise, for 'twas the Author's care,  
That you by these examples should beware.  
His Muse meant not to please them, that take pride  
To hear a handsome doxy deified;  
When all that she is praised for, shall be  
The neat contrivance of her lechery.  
How she escapes the watch all hours of night;  
The Constable supposing her some spirit,  
Dares not affront her; how her chambers be  
From the rude violence at Shrovetide free.  
But what the Author touching her shall say,  
You'll viewing find it in a differing way.  
And if your judgements do conceive him right,  
He aims as well to profit as delight.  
Peruse him favourably, and you shall see  
Much matter handled by his industry;  
And when from him y'ave learned to shun gross crimes,  
Be pleased to thank, and praise him for his rhymes.   

Friend Mill, I could dwell on thy praise; but 'twill  
Be a fit subject for some abler quill.  
I could commend the smoothness of thy strains,  
But 'tis a work befitteth abler brains  
To do it fully: let me therefore be  
Only a lover of thy worth and thee.  
As 'tis expected then the learned and wise,  
Should this your worth, as I your friendship prize.  
Deign your acceptance of these lines, that thence  
Your Readers may be taught a lesson hence,  
From your example, kindly to accept,  
What is devoted to their due respect.   

For should you but dislike a line that's here,  
It would encourage them to spend a jeer  
Upon the lightest criticism; and take  
You for their pattern, who an error make  
Of this my forward service; but I fear  
These words will prove another trespass here:  
And while I labour to abate your ire,  
Stirring the embers, I increase the fire.  
This, and I've done; you need not fear its worth,  
Only your name will serve to set it forth.  
And if the ruder here affrighted gaze  
At your unlookt-for raptures, stand amazed:  
Let'em awhile but listen, and they'll grow  
(Being ravished with those numbers from you flow)  
In love with wit and fancy: and esteem  
You worthy of a laurel Anademe:   

Which fame shall crown thy temples with in spite  
Of all gainsayers of thy Muses right.  
Whose worth while other praise, let me admire;  
Sith, I but add a voice unto their choir.  
C. G. ex Oxon.   

To the Ingenious Author, Master HUMPHREY MILL, on his book called A Night's Search.  
YOur Mill grinds well; and each pure line  
Without a Search may swear it thine.  
An obscure subject you display,  
In neat expressions clear as day.  
Rare Art that can both satisfy  
The learned, and the vulgary!   

This censure gives a friendly pen,  
Thou art the flower of witty men.   

Then take this baptism from my quill,  
A Mill a Poet, Poet Mill.  
Sic approbavit, DAN: FOX. Grays-inn.   

To his worthy friend the Author of the Night's Search.  
IF Decker dockt with discipline and wit,  
Gained praises by the Bellman that he writ;  
Or laud on Brath wait waiting did abound;  
When a Strappado for the devil he found.  
Then may this Mill of Mills, by right of merit,  
Equal (if not superior) fame inherit.  
Being no Art-invented paper Mill,  
That water driving not, lies ever still:  
But such a Mill as (in my best account)  
Deserves a Mansion on Parnassus' mount.  
A Mill not agitated (as I find)  
Nor set on work by water or by wind.  
Nor a poor Edifice by Art compact,  
But Nature in this Mill her part did act:  
That by self-working of a pan, and pen,  
The reputation of luxurious men,  
And women, given to soul-killing lust,  
Or other vice, grinds as it were to dust;  
Making one little world in verse to tell,  
What foliyes in this Universe do dwell.   

Briefly, this Mill, or Microcosm appears,  
In rich endowments old, though young in years:  
And though no papermill, his worthy name,  
This second time pressed paper must proclaim.  
His first deserved no carping, nor derision,  
For 'twas a useful Melancholy Vision.  
And here behold his Night's Search, that may catch  
The Constable, perhaps, with all his Watch.  
And men in higher office, that are bend  
Themselves (and not their Maker) to content;  
Whereby the light of reason we may spy,  
With Venus, Bacchus, Hermes, many lie.  
But were I single (Mill) 'twere best for me,  
Next to Divines, still to converse with thee:   

In whose vice-hating breast, and active brain,  
The Censor Cato seems to live again.  
JOAN. PATRIDOPHILUS.   

To his judicious friend, Master HUMPHREY MILL, on his Evening Poems.  
I Need not win the lookers on to buy  
This piece (worth reading over:) every eye  
That views thy name to't and hath heard thy praise.  
Without entreaty will respect the Bays  
With favourable perusal: then shall I  
Prevent the Readers willing industry;  
And as it were, ambitious to be read,  
Before thy rare composures, dare to spread  
My courser fare at th' upper end; but 'tis  
Only to whet their appetites to this:  
Which to the second course thou dost prepare.  
That every palate may commend thy fare.   

Taste what you like, and if ought here displease ye,  
'Tis not because 'tis bad, but you are queasy.  
ROB. NEWTON.   

To his friend, HUMPHREY MILL, upon his ensuing Poems.  
FRiend, I admire thee, for by heaven I swear,  
I have not heard nor seen this many a year,  
A subject fitter for my wonder, or  
Rather my joy, since flattery I abhor:  
For, looking in thy face, I read in thee,  
The perfect lines of ingenuity.  
Such is thy work, that thou to fame mayst wed it,  
(By true relation) though I never read it.  
Should I conceive thy much aspiring flame  
To reach at me? no, I admire the same.  
Thy book has more than some will wish indeed,  
And that the title doth too far exceed.  
If any mock the title, say 'tis flat,  
I'll tell him to his teeth, 't' no matter what.  
If any say thy lines do cut, or harp  
Upon a jest, and say thy wit is sharp;  
Thus answer him again, that none but fools  
Will be so mad to meddle with edged tools.  
Ro. T. hospitii Lincoln.   

To his very good friend, Mr. HUMPHREY MILL, on his Poem called the NIGHT'S SEARCH.  
ME thinks, I hear the Punks and Panders say,  
There is a Nights Search coming, let's away:  
'Tis time, I see, there's not a fault hath slipped  
Away by thee, but has been sound whipped;  
Some burned i'th' hand, i'th' shoulders, elsewhere some;  
There's not a drunkard, filthy quean, or scum,  
That's left unpunished; nay, it may be said,  
Thou hast a wit that makes the world afraid.  
Men dare not kiss a wench, nor she the men,  
For fear of thy two-edged Satiric pen.  
Go on (brave sir) to punish thus the crimes  
Of these abusive and adulterous times,  
That th' age to come may say there was a Mill,  
That scoured the world from such abortive ill.   

Put down your clubs, yè Constables that catch  
The leather-winged bats; and you the Watch,  
Go stumble home, what needs a rusty bill,  
A Welch-hooke, or a halberd? here's a Mill,  
That apprehends more Panders, Punks & knaves,  
Than all the Beadles with their painted staves:  
For this his Night's Search is a piece of work,  
That may, for aught we know, convert the Turk:  
'Tis pity than it should empaled lie,  
Within the narrow verge of Brittany:  
No, it shall ride in state on Neptune's back,  
To th' Court of Amurath and Prester Jack.  
Who knows what virtue's in't? perhaps his lines  
May make them turn away their Concubines.   

Grind on brave Mill, thou art for all their frauds:  
The great Shrove-tuesdy to the whores & bawds.  
ROBERT CHAMBERLAIN.   

To the well-deserving, Master HUMPHREY MILL, upon his Poems called A Night's Search.  
Mere flashy Poems best acceptance find,  
With men to Novels of the times inclined:  
Expressions of a Muse enriched with grace,  
(That strikes at sins foul and prodigious race)  
Hardly from those deserved praise shall gain,  
Who but a thought of good to entertain,  
Doloath as death. Be not discouraged then,  
If censured by the worthless sort of men.  
None that are wise and good, but I dare say,  
To read a Poem doth so well display  
(As yours) the blackness of these monstrous crimes;  
(So freely, boldly practised in these times:)  
And with such art doth remedies apply,  
To cure the souls each kill malady,  
Will much delight and celebrate your praise,  
With what's your merits due, the learned Bays.  
BAR. PIGOT.   

To his friend, Mr. HUMPHREY MILL, upon his rich conceits in his Poems called A NIGHT'S SEARCH.  
THe Laws and Statutes which are now in force,  
Confirmed by justice, order such a course,  
That watchmen guard the night, and while men sleep,  
Their goods and persons they in safety keep.  
And do (or should) discover noctuall scouts,  
As Panders, Pimps, and Bawds, their hellish routs,  
And bring them to correction; where the Law  
May take effect, and keep them still in awe.   

But what's all that to this Nights Search of thine?  
Thou hast discovered in thy Epic line,  
Whole troops of helt-hounds; and thou hast displayed  
Them to the life; that hell is now afraid  
Of thee, thy Genius, and thy searching quill,  
Which have revealed another world of ill.   

Me thought, I saw thee in thy curious Search,  
Much like an Eagle mounted on a perch  
To overlook the world: and having spied  
A knot of Night-fowles, than thou didst divide  
Thy nimble feathers; there thou wouldst not stay;  
But down thou flew'st, and took'st them for a prey.  
Thou didst both whip, and teach thy Night-borne prize:  
Thou wast too lofty once to stoop for flies.  
Yet tenderhearted; thou couldst not endure  
Those that were sore, should go without a cure.  
To those that mend not, but will sin again,  
The Bridewell lash is easier than thy pen.   

Thy book is useful for the Commonwealth,  
I love its worth, and thee, and wish thee health.  
Mount still with winged raptures; for I know  
Thy mind's too sprightly (long) to dwell below.  
THO: COLLETT.   

Upon the deserving Author, Master HUMPHREY MILL, and his Night's Search.  
Out of a drowsy slumber at midnight,  
My Muse awakes me, and commands me write  
Upon this Night's Search: I was loath to rise;  
But rubbed awhile my temples, and mine eyes;  
Struck fire, got light, pen, ink, and paper by;  
What must I write now? what! yes what? and why?  
Must I crowd in among those learned ranks,  
That do already overflow the banks  
Of this our Mill, with streams from Helicon?  
Are there not floods before it many a one,  
Of strength enough to drive the wheel about,  
But such a weak supply must be drawn out  
As I can dribble through a slender quill?   

Well, come away; more sacks unto the Mill.  
I will make one, but by your leave my Muse,  
Stand you aloof: I other aid must use  
To praise this work, and workman: to be done  
As it should be, by no Muse but his own:  
And her I now invoke. Fair modest maid,  
Be not in any blush or thought afraid,  
That I'll attempt thy Chastity; or wrong  
Thee, or thy Poet, though thou ' assist my song  
In chanting forth his praise; I will not quite  
Ravish thee from him: one short hours delight  
Intitillations thou canst give my brain,  
Shall serve my turn; and then fly home again.  
Pray be not coy, but, come unto his friend,  
Many a man himself so long would lend.  
I know he'll not be angry: now she comes,  
And yields conceit for ten Encomiums,  
Were here but space to place them! O she flows,  
As if she'd turn the whole world out of prose,  
Into delightful measures; and the times  
Out of rude senses into rationallrimes.  
Which of the ancient Poets (with reverence still  
Be't spoke) on vices has out-wrote our Mill?  
Or of the Modern busy ones who sweeter  
Can grind so many mischiefs into meeter?  
Write, write apace, all you that boast to be  
Traders in Poetry, Prentices, or free,  
In praise of this rare Artist; that the earth  
May be prepared to welcome this great birth.  
This new book of abuses whipped, and stripped,  
Which o'er the withered old ones head have skipped.  
And by its supper excellency undone  
That which was called the Belman too of London.  
And here fall down, you Citie-Owles and Bats,  
That should watch in the night, (but like dull Cats,  
You sleep, or got a birding, while the Rats  
Play in the streets before the Counter gates)  
Fall down (I say) you Officers of night,  
Worship the glory of the Lantern light  
That s here held up to you by th' hand of Mill,  
That shows you the high way to all the ill  
He has discovered; and you should prevent.  
Now if you be so ignorantly bend,  
Or willfull-blinde, as, we'll not see, you say;  
You may want eyes to see another day;  
Or be so hoodwinked, that you may not spy  
When your own wives with other men do lie!  
And (under favour) may the City know  
What toll or recompense she now doth owe  
To this industrious Mill, this Watchman? nay  
This glory of the night. The City may  
Call him her Moonshine; not at least deny  
He's a Night-Dyall to set her Watches by.  
Consider now, you that are grave and wise  
In City government, and Beadles, Spies,  
Informers, and Promoters keep in fee,  
The endless unknown worth of Poetry.  
Which of enormities discovers more  
In one Nights Search than in ten years before;  
Had all you Officers compounded for.  
And as you love to punish vice, abhor  
Ingratitude to virtue; let reward  
Engage the Poet then to your regard.   

Soshall his Muse your honour sing, and so  
Your Mill more merrily the round shall go.  
RICHARD BROOME.   

To Master MILL, on his NIGHT'S SEARCH.  
WHere sucb a troop of Worthies do approve,  
'Twould seem injustice to conceal the love  
I bear thy merits: which should honoured be,  
By all that do love ingenuity.  
Let me then on these champions of thy fame  
Attend; and glory that I have a name  
I' th' list of thy admirers, and may be  
Thought on hereafter for my praising thee.  
I am not skilled in compliment, nor use  
At every trivial cause to rouse my Muse;  
Yet truly, I would willingly bestow  
That praise upon thee which I justly owe  
To thy deserts; but then I must repeat  
What others have delivered, and entreat  
The loan of some choice fancy, or the wit,  
The matter or conceits best suiting it,  
From this or that great Artist, lest I run  
A new into anobligation.   

But I forbear with borrowed coin to pay  
The debt I owe, and crave a longer day;  
Acknowledging how much our lewder times  
Are daily altered by thy well-filled rhymes.  
JO. WILSON, Interioris Templi.   

To the Author, M. HUMPHREY MILL, on his worthy work, called A NIGHT'S SEARCH.  
WHat a good conscience hath inspired thy pen,  
To throw its gall upon the faults of men!  
And those soule-tempting errors that entice  
Loose women to be instruments of vice!  
'Twas sure no Constable that's proud to wear  
The title of a Parish Officer,  
To help his stock, and credit by conniving,  
For by severity, there's little thriving.  
Nor did a Suburbs Justice teach thee how  
To look on sin with a contracted brow;  
That brings him profit, and maintains his man,  
That writes worse latin than Justinian.  
No, no, 'twas zeal in thee, that hast refined  
Loose Poetry (to lightness more inclined)  
And taught it to instruct, not tempt the soul  
With wanton raptures, unto acts are foul:  
They are by thee so lively made t' appear,  
Desire dares not attempt them without fear.  
What Patron shall reward thee? few there are,  
Will to thy full desert a bounty spare.  
Those chiefly which delight to spend their means  
Upon thy punished bawds and sore-lasht queans.  
I wish I could dispose it, thou shouldst be  
Master of Bridewell, I so honour thee,  
Thou wouldst reform more queans with thy learned quill,  
Than beating hemp, or turning of the mill.  
THO. N.   

Ad amicum fuum candidum, M. HUMPHREDUM MILL, dePoëmate faceto, cui Titulus A NIGHTS SEARCH.  
SOme loose-lined Rhymers by lascivious Lays,  
Infect the Air; thou justly bearest the Bays,  
Thy quill commands a blessed Memory,  
Coevall with Long-breathed Eternity:  
While thou by Practice and a Poet's pen,  
Dost lash the Brainsick carriages of men;  
And so discreetly on a various Matter,  
Thy flowing Thoughts most variously dost scatter.   

Thy Nobler Muse, excites a low-bred strain,  
A starved conceit, or fancy from a Swain:  
Each verse a rapture is, and every word  
A speaking sentence; measures all accord  
By due proportion; in this verse of thine  
There's no harsh accent, nor a maimed line.   

The sweetened music of thy Newborn lines,  
Exceeds old Orpheus' pipe, thou charmest the Times.  
While Mirth and Wit, with Modesty make head  
To level Vice, and strike profaneness dead,  
In this thy Search. That Surg'on wins my heart,  
Who if he lance doth Anodyze the smart.  
What though some Beefe-braines cannot trace thy pen,  
But judge thee guilty, as the worst of men!  
'Cause their low-fathomes, wedded to their Sense,  
Can only judge of things i'th' Present Tense!  
Each Peasant cannot Cube, nor well descry  
A Poet's Sphere, because his Searching eye  
Sublimes itself; we know that spotless name  
Is winged abroad to withered Envies shame.   

But let it swelis, this truth I'll safely say,  
Thy Marshaled Muse hath won the field to day;  
That when thou payest the grave thy debt, To Die,  
Will mount thy purchased glory to the sky.   

Brave Gallants that swear fealty to sin,  
Yield Homage to a lust, or cursed Fien!  
This book arrests you; bid your lusts adieu,  
Shake hands with Vice, your Mistress, & that Crew;   

Or read your Doom with silence, lest you feel  
The circling lashes of his Scourge of steel.  
Sic approbavit ELIAH PALMER, Londinensis.   

To his good friend the Author of the Night's Search.  
Feign would I press to drop some lines among  
The wits that write thy praise; but being young,  
And wanting wit, I fear 'twill be my doom,  
My Muse came shuffling in to fill a room.  
But my intent is good, that helps the rest;  
Thy worth is more than can be here expressed.  
Thou hast revealed those things, that such as I  
May warning take: how do the harlot's fry,  
And burn alive! thou hast displai'da whore  
In all her postures; never man did more.   

The bawd, the thief, the prodig all, the pimp,  
The rascal pander, every hellish Imp  
Shall feel thy lash: those that are rotten-ripe,  
Drop down before thee; where thou giv'st a stripe,  
'Tis only 'mendment that can give them ease,  
(Join d with thy cures) for their foul disease.  
If I should undertake to set thee forth,  
I should come short in blazing of thy worth.  
But in this work, O! how dost thou excel!  
I love no flattery, the world can tell.  
Thy verse is full of fancy, and thy brain  
Drops rich conceits, good language, that thy strain  
May please the best of wits; O let it be  
Made known to ages what they owe to thee!  
PHILIP. CHAMPER NOUN Medii Templi.   

To his respected friend, Master MILL, on his ensuing Poems.  
WHen I took pen in hand to write of thee,  
An ague took my joints, no part was free:  
I would thee and thy Work with praise commend,  
But that I knew not when to make an end.  
I thought again some palled conceit would fall  
Into my quill; than not to write at all  
I thought it best; but by and by again,  
Me thought I had a fancy in my brain.  
With that my barren Muse began to spring,  
She somewhat needs would speak, & this's the thing.   

How richly is thy Muse adorned, that she  
Can sound out things that thou didst never see!  
She hath revealed the plots of hell. By kind  
Thou art a Milk indeed, for thoudost grind  
Their flesh to naught, & then condemn'st their bones  
To be suppressed by hard relentless stones.  
So full of fancy, decked with rich conceit,  
Is all thy Work, by measure, and by weight:  
I think that by it daily many a one  
Will be reclaimed when thou art dead and gone.  
He that doth read thy book, will hate the evil,  
And speak thy praise, unless it be a devil.  
So much is found by thee, that all may say,  
Ne re so much known till now (thy night is day.)   

Thou dost, unfeed, without demur or pause,  
O'erthrow the guilty; but thou plead'st the cause  
With art and wit, of innocents' distressed,  
Propounding them away t'attain to rest;  
Preventing all that may be thought or said  
Against thee or thy Muse, that hopeful maid,  
By all the guard of hell: and thou dost bring  
Them doublé shame, in turning back the ●●ing.   

How could I stay to tell thy praises o'er!  
My candle's out, now I can write no more.  
THO. GITTYNS, Interioris Templi.    


A Proem to the Search, with the occasion of it.  
Muse, call thy Genius up, and let thy quill  
Prove thee a sharer in the forked hill:  
Trace flowery Peneus, taste the silver spring  
Of Helicon; screw up thy treble string:  
Begin with concord's, discords come apace,  
And then thou mayst more freely strike the base.  
Let judgement guard thee, reasons counsel ask;  
Thou hast no common, but a painful task  
To undertake; not wanton idle bays:  
Love-subjects are too threadbare now adays.  
Nor lustful Epigrams, nor jesting rhyme,  
Which might corrupt men, rob them of their time:  
Nor senseless tales (such trash hath venom in't,  
No reason; but that sools would be in print)  
No, nor the brave exploits of worthy men:  
But worthless imps are destined for thy pen.   

The bawdy rabble, which have been protected  
By some too oft (and punishment neglected)  
Must be displayed by thee: their menstr'ous blaince  
Lanced to the quick; their never dying stains  
Laid to the view of men; their private ends,  
And how theyare robbed of reason, wit, wealth, friends;  
How vile they make the times, what things did fall  
Into the hands of fate, what hellish thrall  
Attends upon them; how their shameless breath  
At last is sucked into the whirlpool death.   

To those that will return, and will endure  
Thy cor'sive, and thy lance, apply thy cure:  
Go boldly forth, the Constables will guard thee,  
And if thou dost good service, they'll reward thee.  
The watchmen, with the be adles, will attend thee;  
Ask light, or weapons of them, they will lend thee;  
The justices will grace thee in thy cause,  
And give thee warrants from the strongest laws.  
Prepare thyself against tomorrow night,  
And be industrious; know, that candlelight  
May show thee more than day: for why? the Sun  
Doth make those night-fowles into corners run.  
If any plead for hell, ne'er favour such;  
They have been favouted in the world too much.   

Search other country's too; for there are weeds  
Which harbour serpents, and as hateful deeds  
As Britain ever did: lose not thy way,  
Thou mayst be here again by break of day.  
Mus. My charge is hard, time short for tedious things!  
Thou art a spirit, canst not use thy wings?  
I never was a subject to this sin;  
But now thy search being ready to begin,  
I'll help thee in't: and as a slander by  
May better judge (casting a serious eye)  
Than he that is an actor; so the fame  
Of sinful crimes helps me to blaze the shame.  
Those that are pinched (perhaps) will fling and kick,  
(The gaulled backed jade will snuff) and seek to pick  
A quarrel with thee, and with envy swell;  
Though here they are, their venom came from hell:  
But answer them at last; none will oppose  
Thee in thy Search, unless't be some of those  
Which thou hast guilty found: and then they will  
Show to the world that they are far more ill  
Than thou hast showed (although they have been vain)  
To peach themselves they'll be but fools in grain.  
I name'em not; what is at random shown,  
In frenzy fits they'll make it all their own:  
Were they not guilty, they would be possessed  
With gentleness, their minds would be at rest.  
How ere they rage, yet enter thou their roof,  
Though they resist, they are not vengeance proof.   

Prevent the bawd, or she'll have her desire,  
Ere th'watchmen come, she'll draw away the fire,  
And let her harlots down; such fobs are made  
As masterpieces, which do help their trade.  
Find out their holes, take but the hearth away,  
There shalt thou find a hell; the furies play  
There in the dark: being apprehended so,  
Let no man take a bribe to let them go.  
I make no doubt but honest minds will take  
The sense at best, and good construction make  
Of what is spoke, and meant; and what is weak  
They'll silent pass, of what's of worth they'll speak.   

Hearing the cries of husbands for their wives  
Being grown too light (who loved them as their lives.)  
Complaints of women, with their grieved moans,  
Their bitter mourning, with their sighs and groans  
For their lost husbands; who have been undone  
With following whores: and how poor children run  
About for succour, how their brinish tears  
Have spoke the parent's shame: how free from fears  
Vile strumpets walk abroad, how men like flaves  
Are chained, and brought untimely to their graves:  
How men have lost by trusting such an else,  
(I have been gulled by some of them myself.)  
They'll drive men off with words from day to day,  
Till they pimp, beg, or die, or run away.  
And finding many thus were overthrown,  
I did resolve to make their courses known.   

Walking alone over the pleasant fields  
Which were enriched with treasure, all which yields  
Much matter for delight, 'twas clearly seen  
That all the earth was newly clad in green:  
It did rejoice that it had cast away.  
It's winter suit, which was a suit of grey.  
The airy Choristers did sweetly sing  
Their well-tuned sonnets to the cheerful spring.  
Don Phoebus smiled so lovely on the earth,  
That it bears twins, or hath a second birth.  
To make all yet more rich, the gentle showers  
With hony-drops resweets the various flowers,  
Which now are risen from their frozen beds  
To welcome in the Spring: they show their heads  
To cheer men's hearts; the milder gales of wind  
Allays the heat, refreshing every mind,  
It hardly chides the dust, being calm and fair,  
It breathes sweet gusts which do perfume the air.  
The beast that was imprisoned and did eat  
His bare allowance, now he carves his meat.  
The azure-colour heavens joyed to see  
Such concord on the earth: the harmony  
Possessed me with content; how did this day  
Resemble heaven! but, it passed away.   

The Charetter of heaven whipped his steeds  
That ran too fast before; he never heeds  
Our loss, nor care, nor did his fury rest  
Till he had driven them headlong to the west.  
The day being slunk away, the season too  
Will part ere long (thought I) none can it woe  
To tarry here: to qualify our fear,  
It promised us a visit every year.  
Black Morpheus did begin to chase the light,  
I could not call it day, nor was it night:  
But being refreshed, the notions of my brain  
Somewhat revived, homeward I came again.   

I heard a cry, and as I passed along  
With listening found it was a woman's tongue:  
A man replying (made the noise much more)  
With railing words, Out of my sight you whore,  
I'll travel far enough; What, cannot I  
Accompany my friends, but presently  
Thou must control me? go thou dirty hag.  
I'll bang thy sides, and make thee work, or beg.   

The woman's answer modest was, and mild;  
Alas, you know that I am big with child;  
I've little ones beside, I am afraid  
If you mend not, they'll be through want destroyed:  
You care not for us, nor provide us meat,  
We often sit and have no bread to eat:  
You spend what ere you get upon a whore,  
And now you will be gone to vex me more:  
What case am I now in? oh! if you leave me,  
I wish the grave more kind, and to receive me.   

Then coming to'em, she expressed her grief  
To me at large (I gave her some relief)  
But he with fury railed, till at the last  
A Constable did make him cry as fast;  
Who coming, knew the case, where he did dwell;  
And to the justice near to new Bridewell  
He had been brought, but that I made request  
For him; he promised to forsake the nest  
Of bawdy strumpets, and to end the strife  
He did confess his faults, and clear his wife.   

Yet afterwards this vassal was as bad  
As bad might be; which made his wife run mad,  
And so she still remains: this gave more strength  
Unto my purpose; then my Muse at length  
Possessed with fury, pressed with thoughts, grew bold  
To bend herself strange stories to unfold.  
Though she was angry, she was moved with pity  
Towards every one, in Country, Court and City.  
It is the sin she strikes at, 'tis her end  
To show examples, others may amend.  
These kind of devils (though they range about)  
Where once they enter, seldom are cast out.   

Her meaning is, in making sharp her pen,  
To drive ill spirits out, and save the men.  
She fears not envy, Ignoramus least;  
One's cursed, but weak, and bayards but a beast.  
If thou dost meet her, use her well (she's free)  
Or else she may unlooked for meet with thee.  
She smiles, yet grieves, to hear how some will roar,  
Although they purchase hell to get a whore.  
Thy night is come; go, quickly call the watch;  
Forth ou haste weighty business to dispatch:  
Grace honest Poets; as thou walkest thy round  
The wanton Rhymer will be quickly found:  
Search out the rest, judge as thou findest their crimes:  
Then thou mayst be a register of times.    

A Night's Search.  

SECTION 1. The character of a modest, wise Poet, with some touches by the way at his opposites; his happy end.  

THe true borne Poet, that doth bend his quill  
To scan the world, and finding out the ill,  
Provides a cure; and still it is his care  
To lance the sore, that others may beware:  
He's temperate, wise, and modest, he will sit  
In company to polish o'er the wit.  
He's harmless in his life; no person, place  
Are hid from his conceits: he shows that face.  
That's most obscured: his Genius and his pen  
May make you think his spirit lives in men.  
He's like a little world; for all things there  
Obtain a being in their proper sphere.  
All men do meet in him; his searching Art  
Sucks in the sweet, and cream of every part,  
Gull, knave, or fool, before he'll let him pass,  
He'll learn the true character of an ass.  
He sets out sin (most lively) black as hell,  
To fright men from the bait; he can as well  
Displayed in parts, or gross, or both, or either,  
(Though sin and he were never bred together)  
As well as any curious painter can  
The fashion of a landscape or a man.  
The guilty man may read his sin, his shame,  
And call it his, although there's not his name:  
But virtue in her beauty he hath known,  
He makes all sure, and takes her for his own:  
Then spreads her beauty, that the world may see  
she's lovely in herself; and all may be  
Corivals in this match; for she will do  
Favours to men, and yet be modest too.   

He is a maker, not alone of verse,  
But of the matter too; he doth rehearse  
Much substance in a word: he can compose  
His lofty fancies, or in verse, or prose:  
But if in verse, how smoothly doth it glide  
Into the heart? the memory beside  
Retains it best: his raptures do translate  
The minds of some into a happy state.  
His numbers with his measures do agree;  
The accents meet with such sweet harmony:  
The emphasis is raised with such grace,  
That all concurs to keep both time and place.  
Good language in his lines he doth express,  
His couple join with sense; he is no less  
Than heir to Parnassus: h'had such a draught  
At Helicon, that he is rightly taught  
To speak the native tone of all the nine;  
But courts Urania, 'cause she is divine.   

What ere his measures are, or short, or long,  
Lyrics, or Sapphics; if he frames his song  
jambique like, or if Pentameters,  
Or double metres, or Hexameters;  
Or if he pitch upon Heroic strains:  
'Twill speak his praise, because his seasoned brains  
Cast out no dross; he's modest in his line,  
What ere his subject be, his worth will shine.   

True profit and delight do meet together  
In his conceits: although the fool finds neither.  
His lines are stored with witty useful pleasure;  
Though idiots sleight, wise men will prise his treasure.  
His company is sweet to those that know  
How to make use on't: but he'll seldom throw  
His breath away upon a scornful ass,  
A brute he came, and so he'll let him pass.   

He taketh nor fables, nor conceited dreams,  
Nor idle fictions to make up his themes;  
Yet he will use them, only to allude  
To good, or ill, to shame the multitude.  
If melancholy, then he's wise, and grave,  
Grief, sorrow, death, are subjects he will have  
To work upon; he gives his words by weight;  
With vain delights he's quite out of conceit.   

If he be pleasant, all his writings tend  
To take men with delight: he will commend  
A little good, to make'em love the rest:  
He's sad'mongst bad men, merry with the best.  
He'll dash an evil out of favour, then  
He'll let it blood, but comfort up the men.  
He slights the world, nor will he ever be  
A favourite to prodigality.  
He's free to all, regarding not his store,  
And that's the reason he is often poor.  
He hates lascivious rhymes, he'll not applaud  
A fair faced whore, nor yet the common bawd,  
But whip'em still; for he will ever pry  
In secret places where most dangers lie.  
He's nobleminded (not a sordid else)  
He strives to know, and to enjoy himself:   

Nor will he flatter great ones for a fee,  
Whose worth lies in their wealth, for such as he  
Are able to discern: nor will he sawn  
Upon his patrons (laying truth to pawn  
In every line) unless in him he find  
An honest heart graced with a noble mind:  
Not like a temporizer, who will hold  
Pace with his vices, only for his gold,  
Who seribles much, and shameful praise doth gain;  
't'had better been undone; for time will stain  
His name for ever: most men do detest  
All verses for his sake; but yet the rest  
Are ne'er the worse; for such this time I borrow:  
I have digressed, I'll speak of him to morrow.   

But this ingenious Poet doth rehearse  
Things as they are, or should be, and his verse  
Not stuffed with clouded words, or conjuring strains,  
Nor thunderclaps, which might distract the brains  
Of honest readers: but in terms most fit  
T'express his matter, and to teach them wit.  
He doth refine conceits, and raise them higher,  
His musique's next unto the angel's choir.  
Nor doth he spin it threadbare; he'll begin  
New fancies as he goes; the spring within  
Runs always fresh: he doth not trade abroad  
With borrowed wit, nor tread the beaten road.   

His Genius works when other men do sleep,  
His aims are heavenly, and his judgements deep.  
He's humble still, you cannot make him know  
His own desert; he's not a man for show.  
He doth not search for praise, (he loathes all such)  
He thinks he's simple, though he knows so much.   

But yet to show the vileness of that brood  
That do prefer their humours, hate all good,  
he'll baffle such men, and he scorns the nest  
Of venom-coupledsots: silence is best  
To answer such backbiters: he will slight  
Detracting vassals that will vomit spite  
At what they know not, and will look asquint  
On things of worth; what ere has most worth in't  
They slubber most with gall; in all that's evil  
They'll go as far, and be as like the Devil,  
As all their wit can make them: oh! but then  
They'll fall with shame before the Poets pen.  
Though they like Xerxes whip the sea, and send  
A challenge to the hills; yet in the end  
The sea's too strong, the mountains are too high  
For fools to clamber: so like fools they die.   

This honest Poet finds among the wise  
His due respect: for they have learned to prise  
Persons, and things of worth: and still his bent  
Is how to shame the vile, and give content  
To all the best. Come, take him as you find him;  
he'll think of you, though you do never mind him,  
Turn all his verse to prose, it bears the sense  
And lustre of a poem: and from thence  
True worth doth spring. The Poets first did teach  
Humanity to men, made up the breach,  
That rudeness made; all useful Arts were clothed  
With Poet's wit: why should it then be loathed?   

The learned'st in the languages, rehearse  
Much of the sacred text was writ in verse;  
As some of Moses law, the Psalms, the Song  
Of Solomon, the holy people's wrong,  
Under their foes, by jeremy related;  
The book of job, and all the songs were stated  
In measured Metres; who would verse disdain,  
When Poets have such patterns for their strain!   

He that's Dramatic, and doth purge the stage  
From scurrile dross, and shows this simple age  
Their moulded trophies; and doth always strive  
To keep both persons names, and things alive,  
His end is good; but idiots learn by this  
How to contrive their ways: to do amiss  
Some there conclude (of late I heard one say)  
I must go meet a whore at such a play.  
What pity 'tis such time, with wit, and cost  
Should be bestowed, and prove but labour lost?  
This was invented chiefly to be used  
By Kings and Nobles, not to be abused  
By hackney trulls: but now I must return  
To lay my honest Poet in his urn:  
For having spent his time well, now h'as passed  
His life to death: the hungry grave at last  
Is closed upon him; there he must abide  
Until his just and happy cause be tried.   

His Epitaph.  
YOu solid stones, incite the gentle dust  
To guard this man of worth, that's buried here;  
He is a jewel, left unto your trust,  
Till he in glory, gloriously appear.  
Though saucy death hath laid him in this grave,  
His name's alive, and living praise shall have,    

SECT. 2. Against lascivious Poets and poetry, and of the ill that is occasioned by such means.  

THou that art skilled in poetry, and wilt  
Abuse thy wit, thy parts, to mix the guilt  
And filth of lust together, answer here  
To what I charge thee with; let shame and fear  
Possess thy heart: this first doth breed the odds,  
Thou strivest to make the names of heathen gods  
Both famous and immortal: always trying  
To paint them fresh, and show thy art in lying:  
Is't fit a Christian with his muse, his pen,  
Should strive to be an ape to heathen men?  
Art thou so barren of invention made?  
Is wit and fancy low, that thou must trade  
Beyond-sea altogether? fictions vain  
Must stuff thy verse, and still direct thy strain.  
Their feigned gods are guilty (they confess)  
Of lust, and rapes, and of all filthiness.   

Those Poets with rich nature were endued,  
Their witty fictions do so much delude  
Thee with conceit, that thou hast nothing new;  
They framed false gods, and worshipped them as true.  
Poor men! they roved at random in the dark,  
Or nature's light, but never had a spark  
O'th' light above: yet better use they made  
Of that, than he who makes his muse turn jade.  
I say not but those fictions may be used  
To set forth Virtue (not to be abused  
To trick up Folly) vices may be shown  
In their own colours, and be better kowne,  
If well applied: we may leave the dross,  
And take the rest, than therein's gain, no loss.   

But he that in lascivious strains doth glory,  
And trims the ruins of a bawdy story,  
Doth shame his Muse, he strives even to undo her;  
She proves a bawd, his wit's a pander to her.  
Such poisoned baits tricked up in gaudy rhymes,  
Do cheat the simple, and infect the times.  
To sin's too much, more to continue in't,  
'Tis worse to die and leave his sins in print.   

'Tis strange! that men who having wit with Art,  
Should be so mad to take the devil's part!  
Doth God give men their learning, parts, and wit,  
To raise them up, the devil's size to fit?  
Above the rest, on such he sets a price,  
That can with skill paint over his device,  
And scribble out a black and hellish roll;  
'Tis Satan's will: it traps the silly soul.  
For any good, he is a stranger to it,  
Or plead for truth, he hath no heart to do it.   

If things of worth do glance but from his pen,  
'Tis but by chance, he'll wish 'em out again.  
If he but find one, bred of heaven's race,  
He strives his cause, or person to disgrace:  
And to discourage all that hold with them  
Who tread the way towards new Jerusalem.  
But if a blade comes, that's to vice inclined,  
he'll hug him, 'cause he only suits his mind,  
And he that can to his base humours bend,  
(Though ne'er so bad) he'll choose him for his friend  
In hindering good, preferring that that's evil,  
Is poetry to recompense the Devil?   

Will any man esteem that Poet best,  
Who in his wanton wit exceeds the rest,  
And smooths a path for whores, and does applaud  
A shameless villain, and a rotten bawd?  
His ulcered lines not savouring of the salt,  
But raised from burning lust, or wine, or malt,  
Do vex the wise; they only cheer all bad men,  
Make work for Pimps, and sport for fools & mad men.  
A Poet's pen should ever strike at vice,  
And raise true virtue to a noble price:  
And honour truth, dash falsehood out of favour,  
Shame foolish Imps, and praise a sweet behaviour;  
Or else the Devil may a Poet prove,  
To honour lust, and give it terms of love.  
Of him he borrows what he doth indite,  
He would do more, but that he may not write.  
'Tis like great Pluto hath bespoke his quill:  
If this be honour, let him have it still.   

He does bewitch the youth to bend his mind  
To vain delights, (the sting, that comes behind;)  
The young man by't is fond drawn away;  
The old man sees vice trimmed, then goes astray:  
The modest Maid, whose blushing shows her grace,  
She runs away; the whore, whose brazen face  
Is varnished o'er, she can abide and cry,  
Here's wit at will; 'tis pity he should die.   

The bawd she mouths it, sitting on a bench,  
A witty Spark, he loves a pretty wench.  
Her windows with such pamphlets furnished be,  
(The Fiends they dopromote her bawdry)  
The Whiskin laughs until his heart be full;  
For with this bait he lately catcht a Gull:  
Who spent his time to learn this shameless wooing  
To sell himself (for fools must needs be doing)  
He's like to thrive, his trade comes on apace,  
And all those imps that love the filthy race,  
Like Sappho's birds, may chatter out thy praise,  
And swear thy scull shall wear the wreath of bays:  
The fowl that's newly caught will set thee forth,  
And sing a catch: oh! here's a man of worth!   

Thy Art doth teach him to fulfil his lust,  
Stirs up the fire, than this vile heap of dust,  
Much like an Ape, does on the strumpet grin;  
But she so crafty ere he can her win,  
Must pay her well: her smiles, and curled locks  
Do draw him on; till he hath got the pox:  
Then like a woodcock taken in a snare,  
His gold is gone, his empty pare grows bare,  
And all his feathers moulted clean away;  
And when the Chirurgeon comes to seek his pay,  
This light-brained fool, is grown so light in purse,  
Except his rot, it is his greatest curse.  
He pays no debts, and keeps a hungry table,  
he'd run away, but that he is not able.  
His sin that promised him such sweet content,  
Now stings his soul: the whore when all is spent,  
Forsakes him; jeering at his cursed estate;  
Her love was false, but perfect is her hate.   

Then quickly he begins to stink alive,  
While with his gold the quean doth seem to thrive:  
He'll curse the Poet, rail against his whore;  
And being grown so miserably poor,  
Disease and want have quenched his lust full flame,  
He dies despairing, leaves a rotten name.   

The heavens know if ever he repented;  
Amongst men below his death is not lamented;  
Excepting those that lived upon his loss,  
And's creditors that had so great a cross.   

Poor wretched man! that hath so short a time!  
He's like a worm that creeps in dust and slime!  
Yet spends himself, sin sucking out his marrow;  
The world (though wide) doth seem for him too narrow;  
His brains are nimble to contrive the ill  
To please his humours, and his headstrong will.  
Those Milldewed pleasures that delight the sense,  
He entertains; but for his recompense,  
Death joins with sin to throw him in his grave,  
Dust bars him up, and keeps him like a slave.   

His Epitaph.  
HEre lics a man bewitched with a whore,  
Who spent himself, his time, and his estate:  
She slunk away, leaves him to pay the score:  
Could any man be more unfortunate?  
Now for his debt, Death hath attached his bones,  
And keeps them under these bard-hearted stones.    

SECT. 3. The wanton Poet's Funeral.  

THe bawdy Poet's grown as bad as he,  
Takes leave of wit, and ingenuity;  
Though he would seem to prove a whore had calling,  
She helps him not, although she sees him falling.  
Excess of drink, with vileness hath o'erthrown him,  
Few friends he hath, and some ashamed to own him.  
That Morbus which he wished to other men,  
Like Echoes sounding, answers him again.   

Great Sol doth blush, denies to give him light;  
And Luna scorns to come within his sight:  
The earth doth grumble now to bear him too;  
Nor any creature will him service do:  
They all disgrace him, he with sin is pressed;  
(Shame matched with sorrow, tames both man & beast)  
For Celleredge he made his belly large,  
And filled it up; but others bore the charge.  
And yet (forsooth) he must be counted wise,  
Though blasted breath would raise him to the skies,  
And his conceit may draw it as his lot,  
Yet ere he dies, he turns a very sot:  
His land-flood wit that swelled above the brink,  
Stole empty air: his soul being like to sink,  
His lustful fictions, with the Muses nine,  
Affords no help: his sickness is divine.  
The inward test, his spirits sad events,  
Can find no ease in barren compliments.  
Like Iordan's streams to Mare Mortuum's lake,  
He smoothly glides, a restless rest to take.   

Him poverty, and shame doth apprehend;  
Gild follows on, and dogs him towered his end;  
And having vented all his paltry stuff,  
Like Drautons' Mooncalf, burned to the snuff,  
Betwixt extremes, then in his grease he fries,  
‛ Sparkles a little, and then stinking dies.  
From thence his Venus cannot him deliver,  
Nor Cupid rescue with his bow, and quiver,  
Nor Mars with's valour, no, nor lusty jove,  
(Great jupiter, will helpless to him prove.)  
Swift Mercury and Saturn have agreed,  
With all the Gods, to fail him at his need:  
Apollo's harp can give him no content;  
Parnassus hill, and Helcon have spent  
Their cooling drops: bold Bacchus finds no room  
To lay a hogshead by him in his tomb.  
Ceres can never ease him with the Crop;  
The Vote of Chorus brings no healing drop.   

But Charon waits to ferry him away,  
Where Pluto looks to take him for his prey:  
And Cerberus with his winding heads doth stretch,  
And longs to be the keeper of this wretch.   

There's melody me thinks amongst the throng;  
If any mourn, 'tis 'cause he lived so long.  
Sol shows his face with many a pleasant smile,  
Since from his sight he's gone that was so vile.  
The Moon shines freely, there was none did do her  
Such wrong: for he was still an eyesore to her.  
The earth is glad she's of her burden eased,  
Her furniture is with his absence pleased:  
Thus having laid him in the earth so deep,  
We'll leave him with the crawling worms to sleep.   

His Epitaph.  
A Poet lies arrested here by death,  
Who honoured lust and made it run in rhymes;  
The world lost nothing but infected breath;  
Nor gained he ever by his hateful crimes:  
All that he left, or to adorn his hearse,  
Or pay his debts, was only bawdy verse.    

SECT. 4. The Pimps complaint, the Bawds reply; he changeth his course, she gets another; their life and death.  Pimp. 

ALas, alas! what mischief's here befell?  
My friends are dead who loved me very well:  
What shall I do! my mind is so at strife!  
I'll hang myself, I'm weary of my life.  
My place is little worth, my trading poor,  
I spend my veils, and what I got before  
Will soon be gone; this life long cannot hold,  
Then poverty will catch me being old.  
Provide yourself, I'll take some other course:  
'Tis bad with me, and likely to be worse.   Bawd. 

Thou silly coxcomb! dost thou vex and prate  
Hold still thy clack, or else I'll break thy pate.  
Hast thou forgot when thou wast poor and base,  
I took thee in, relieved thee in this case?  
What wast thou prithee, but a beggar's Imp,  
When I preferred thee, making thee my Pimp?  
Now thou hast got good rags upon thy back,  
And money in thy purse; thou saucy jack,  
Dost domineer? in grumbling in this sort?  
Thou slightest my love, and bringst an ill report  
Upon my house: what though those men be dead!  
Have I no more that are as bravely bred?   

Thou know'st I have an hundred at the least;  
And every one a profitable guest.  
All give thee money, feast thee with good cheer;  
Thy place is worth fullfifty pounds a year.   

But tell me, is't the loss of one or two,  
Which makes thee fret, and keep so much ado?  
Or else the promise of a larger pay?  
Who is't that would inveigle thee away?  
Art thou too well? dost live too much at ease?  
Stay, stay thou fool, and if thou dost me please,  
When ere I die, my wealth and householdstuff  
Shall be thine own; that will be means enough,  
If any wench hath c●ost thy strong desire,  
Let me but know, I'll make her quench thy fire.   

But if thou dost my favour now refuse,  
Go like a sherk, till I shall hear this news  
That thou art begging up and down the street;  
'T would make me laugh if thee I could but meet.  
Thou like a vagrant both to wind and weather,  
Shalt go as bare as ever thou cam'st hither.  
Well, be advised, ere thou dost from me part,  
I can have choice, but thou wilt feel the smart.   Pimp. 

What, are you angry? will you break my head?  
I fear you not, I doubt you'll creep to bed  
Before your time; who then will have the worst?  
Of all the world, the bawd is most accursed.  
You say you raised me, when you found me poor:  
You took me in to man a pocky whore.  
To great preferment was I raised then,  
A Pimp is still adjudged the scum of men.  
You call that breeding which doth breed men's shame;  
And those brave fellows which do use the game  
That's damned to hell; the more they are, the worse;  
They snatch the bait but never mind the curse.  
Cast up you gains, the profit that comes in,  
Hell sets a gloss on't; what's the end of sin?  
I thought all well when sin was my delight;  
But oh! the wound! how doth it now affright  
My horrid conscience! now, I hate this thing;  
The honey-taste is past, now comes the sting.  
'Tis not the promise of your wealth that shall  
Ensnare my soul in hellish cursed thrall:  
Nor yet your threats; I do not fear your charms,  
These lofty winds blow me no mortal harms.   

Come fair, or foul, there's nothing shall dismay me,  
I'll leave my sin, or else it will betray me.  
My conscience shall my poverty control,  
For th'sweet of sin, I will not sell my soul.  
My choice is made, when you your choice do make,  
Think on that burning bed, that furious lake  
That boiles with brimstone: oh! forsake this way,  
Or else the fiends will take you for their prey.  
I'had rather beg my bread while here I dwell,  
Than beg and howl, and be denied in hell.  
Some I have knwne (being taken with a smile)  
That served their lusts though time did wink awhile,  
It called in death, than thus they make their moan,  
The sour is come, but all the sweet is gone!   

Seeing such objects bleeding, then thought I  
Who would so live, so living would not die?  
As doth the Bee his progress fly about,  
And lights on weeds, and yet sucks honey out:  
So have I drawn good from this loath some evil,  
And learnt a way how to deceive the devil.  
I hate those vermin that do haunt your house,  
My veils, your proffers are not worth a—  
I will be freed from't, now I go about it,  
Give me free leave, or else I'll go without it.   

He being freed from this vile shameful strife,  
Doth now resolve to lead an honest life.  
I wish him happiness; still more to know  
What 'tis to be redeemed from hell below.  
Was't ever known that any came from hell?  
Or any changed, that once with whores did dwell?  
There's none so bad, that if they can but leave  
Their sinful ways, but mercy may receive.  
Let none presume, and yet let none despair;  
When storms are past, the heavens will be fair.   

Muse, stay not here, this convert to applaud  
But rurne thyself to shame this shameless bawd.  
She melts her grease, as she is running yonder,  
With bloodhound sent, to seek a pimp or pander.  
She meets a shark, they needs must drink a cup;  
He eannot serve: she takes a beggar up;  
She changed his rags, and robbed him of his—  
And now he's proud, and falls unto his vice  
With expedition: having man'd a whore,  
He gets a fee: now I shall ne'er be poor.  
I must be wise (thinks he) though I am bold,  
My pläce is warm, an open barn is cold.  
He fits her humour, knowing once her mind,  
And she ere long will pay him in his kind.  
(They love so strongly, who would have'em parted  
Till they'ave been whipped and both together carted?)  
He to the bawd spoke thus (and praised his place)   Pimp. 

Blessed be the time that ere I saw your face,  
This is the service I did strive to get,  
And by good fortune we together met:  
I'm overjoyed that I this place now have;  
Who'd live to beg, and be so poor a slave?  
You know my mind, I likewise know your bent,  
I make no doubt but I shall give content.  
Oh! happy night that brought so sweet a morrow!  
Come fill this bowl, I'll drink away all sorrow.   Bawd. 

If thou provest right, thou'lt easily please my mind,  
Though I am hasty, thou shalt find me kind.  
And to my wenches thou must loving be,  
And courteous still, that Gentlemen may see  
Thou dost respect them; they'll reward thy pains:  
When thou dost find thy constant weekly gains,  
'Twill cheer thy heart. Look that in any case  
Thou art not often absent from thy place.   

ne'er go to Church, for what shouldst thou do there?  
'Twill make thee heavy, and bring needless fear.  
Nor read, nor study; things being strict and high,  
Will break thy brains: why should not thou and I  
Live merrily? I have the dainti'st books  
Of poetry; if thou but cast thy looks  
Upon them once, sadness will steal away;  
They make my guests as merry as the day.  
And if thou lov'st me, never friendship have  
With any that are strict: they'll dig a grave  
To bury pleasure in; they'll prate of death,  
Of judgement, hell, & charm thee with their breath.   

If any one thou knowst, that has but coin,  
And loves a wench, the gains shall half be thine,  
If thou canst win him. Do but break a jest  
To find his bent; then, never let him rest,  
But bring him home; we'll ease him of his cash;  
Do't by degrees, thou must not be too rash.  
I have two wenches, Kate and little Nell,  
theyare pretty rogues, and have their Art so well,  
Who ever comes, and does but with them play,  
He's taken: then they make his gold their prey.  
These things, and more, hereafter shalt thou learn;  
Hold up thy head, speak, thou art for my turn.   Pimp. 

Pray make no question on't; for I'll be true,  
And kind to all; but most of all to you.  
I have a master that's a jovial blade,  
He's full of gold: I know he loves the trade.  
He'll often ask, as I by him do pass,  
Where dwells a handsome, young, and trading lass?  
Do as you promise, let me share a stake,  
I'll lay a bait, him we shall quickly take.   

When he attends on some fine Courtesan,  
And gets a double fee, he's then a man  
Much in request: he struts, and cocks his hat,  
And has forgot he was a beggar's brat.  
He's bold and shameless; that's in him required,  
With bawds and whores 'tis chiefly still desired.   

Thus he goes on; the whores do on him smile,  
He's merry-mad: but in a little while  
The common jails, with Bridewell do consent  
To keep this Pimp close to his punishment.  
And by degrees, his body with disease  
Grows weak; his sin doth: fast upon him seize.  
His legs do grudge to bear him any longer,  
All means are blasted that should make him stronger.   

His old familiars he again must have;  
Those six-legged creepers bring him to his grave;  
Whether he died to satisfy the Law,  
Or by a hedge, or on a pad of straw;  
Or is he tumbled int'a stinking ditch?  
'Tis one of these, but 'tis no matter which:  
Where e'er he lies, there let him still remain,  
For if you stir him, he will stink again.   

His Epitaph.  
HEre lies a beggar that was lately made  
A Pimp, to serve a Bawd and man a Whore,  
'Tis strange a beggar should sorsake his trade!  
It made him poorer than he was before.  
His bosome-friends returned, t'increase his strife,  
Conspired with death to take away his life.   

And now the bawd is grown so rank in smell,  
So stale and hated where she used to dwell;  
That she takes leave of jovial merry blithe,  
And having quite outlived her hair, her teeth,  
(For Partridge, Chickens, Quail, she'll often crave it  
Worse meat must serve, she'll eat when she can have it)  
Her custom leaves her now: her household stuff  
Must go to pawn for bread: sh'has scarce enough  
To feed her craving jaws; her kindred all  
Forsake her, loathe her; in this shameful thrall  
She vomits out her breath. (None ever spied  
A gastly'r sight.) And so she sunk and died.   

Her Epitaph.  
HE Woman Bawd who did much mischief hatch,  
Did harbour vermin to corrupt the age:  
She had a fob to hide them from the watch:  
Now she lies plastered in this earthen cage.  
Death takes the Drone which used to rob the hive;  
She has a grave, who was a grave alive.    

SECT. 5. Of two common whores, how they lived and did; and a pimping these, his life and death.  

Muse be not silent, thou hast hit the sore,  
Refresh thyself, and tract the common whore,  
Her ways, her wiles, and her declining age,  
And her Consorts set with her on the stage.  
Their sweet parts acted; cause them to bring in heart,  
A just account what profit comes by sin.   

This qucane, when pride doth once possess her  
Or poverty doth seem to threaten smart,  
Or too much fullness wanton lust doth raise,  
Or idleness, cause her to take byways,  
She's lost for ever. Widow, maid, or wife,  
If once she does affect a whorish life.  
Then like a Bitch she in her lust will bnrne,  
Takes up a rogue, and he must serve the turn.   

She walks the fields; more often in the street,  
Her bold rude looks, when she a man doth meet,  
Must make him blush, if he hath any grace;  
She's impudent, and will not change her face.  
When she is past, observe, and you shall find,  
Herbrazen face will cast an eye behind:  
She'll fawn, and claim acquaintance with sorne ass,  
They must be cousins; then away they pass  
Unto some Tavern; with her wiles she'll take him,  
And ere, they part, a truer Ass she'll make him.  
He buys his sin, and sells himself away,  
And now this whore has made this fool her prey.  
When with his wit, his money too is spent,  
Then farewell Coz, she leaves him discontent.  
She hunts about, and finds some countrey-gull,  
Then tries her wits, how she may neatly pull  
His feathers off: but when her custom's fading,  
She'll take a Shark; for she must needs be trading.  
He haunts her still, his sellowes do no less,  
She doth not own that, that she does possess.  
These dunghill flies suck carrion. For their prey  
They take by force, or steal her goods away.  
(Being desperate villains) if she doth but grumble,  
They'll beat, and kick her till they make her tumble,  
And having had their ends, they leave her bare;  
Going to other, there they get a share.  
This life they lead, their practice is so ill  
They fear the lash, and thus they rob'em still.  
Such after-claps, and worse, do chase their pleasure:  
(Ill-gotten goods is but deceitful treasure.)   

Then ere't be long to Bridewell she is brought,  
(She calls it Hell) for there she must be taught  
To turn the mill, or beat hemp, choose her which:  
If she complains, she's troubled with a stitch,  
They'll use a whip to fright this stitch away:  
Her gown is blue, and brown bread is her pay.   

When she grows old, and time hath ploughed her brow,  
She fills those chinks with painting: think but how  
Her painted grease doth show; it melts about her:  
A shameful object! every boy will flout her.  
Then she begins to rattle in the throat,  
The harshest discord always is her note;  
'Twill rise and fall, like dreamers in their sleep:  
And through her nostrils does her language creep.  
Now Gallicus is fierce, and takes a skip,  
Seizeth with fury'pon her upper lip;  
Takes part for earnest: you may see her gums,  
Her teeth left naked, now she picks up crumbs,  
This woman-eater, not content with those,  
Does grow so greedy that she eats her nose:  
Her eyes are spared, she may reflect, and see  
Her monstrous visage, and deformity.  
Being noisome; to a cottage she's confined,  
Her sap is gone, and nothing left but rind,  
That's shrunk and dry; all hope doth quite for sake her:  
For better, or for worse, the worms must take her.   

Her Epitaph.  
HEre lies a strumpet that did use to pray  
'Pon any one for gain: at last her sight  
Grew odious to the world. She chopped away  
Herself: O! Fate, how this might sinners fright!  
Old Time grew sick upon't; he loathed her breath,  
And he for ease resigned her up to Death.   

Another she is grown as bad, or worse:  
If her trade fails, she'll try to cut a purse,  
Or break a house, or cheat; what e'er is naught  
She'll do: then to the Sessions she is brought:  
Arraigned, condemned, she being guilty found:  
And ends her danyes two yards above the ground.   

Her Epitaph.  
THis shameless Imp searched up and down to find  
An other world of sin; at last she found  
What she would fain have lost; she lest behind  
This world: the hangman hid her under ground.  
Sh'was overcharged with rope, fast by this place:  
Her Mottoes this; she died for want of grace.   

The villain that did keep her for his whore,  
His means is spent; alas! he cannot roar!  
he'd borrow cash, but none will take his word,  
Then he will swear he'll make'em eat his sword.  
Now help him at a pinch! he'll truly pay  
Within a month of the next quarter day:  
He'll give his bill, and seal it with his hand,  
But he's not guilty of a foot of land.  
How happy should he be, had he but coin!  
The Broker is resolved to make him fine  
Upon receipt of gold: he'd in those feathers,  
Just like a Turkey, bristle out all weathers.   

He's vexed, but hopes that if the term were come  
(With some new trick) he should soon light on some.  
If to a place he comes where is but drink,  
He'll cock the broom-mans' beaver: they must think  
He wants not money: by entreaty he  
Resolves to grace them with his company.   

But if he thinks theyare cowardly and base,  
he'll turn his whiskers up, and rub his face,  
And seem to take distaste at every word,  
He lays his hand, and looks upon his sword;  
Stand out on's way; believe me sir he'll fight;  
〈◊〉 blade is old, fit for a man of might.  
The Britons took it when they conquered Wales,  
A Captain gin't him coming back from Cales  
For his hot service, as a recompense:  
'Tis hilted since, which cost him thirteen pence.  
If one that's valiant doth intend to try him,  
He'll answer him, (for why should I belly him?)  
But he must choose his way: (he'as no desire,  
Being burnt before, tolye behind the fire.)  
He's turned t'his freedom: first his railing tongue  
Must give the onset: that not proving strong,  
His heels take place; and he away doth run  
So soon as ere the combat is begun.  
This paltry rascal cheats, and sherks about,  
At last some Officer doth find him out,  
He's tried; they took his hand against his will,  
And made it hiss; me thinks I hear it still.  
This graceless wretch will yet no warning take,  
But worse, and worse, unlawful shifts he'll make;  
He breaks a house, and for it he is tried,  
Or else for robbing by the highway side.  
Then he's condemned to lose his shameless breath:  
The time being come, he dies a wooden death.  
Before, his whore and he did spit out thunder;  
They burned together; but they hang asunder.   

His Epitaph.  
This sinful clod of earth did still daevise  
The pleasantest way to hell: he had releise  
From one who was his whore; but when that prize  
Did melt away, and rot; he turned a thief.  
His cause was pro & con, and for his life  
The halter umpired, and did end the strife.    

SECT. 6. Course salutations betwixt a penniless lecher and his where that forsook him.  

A Man that was addicted to a whore,  
His habit showed that he was grown so poor  
That he was fain to shark, and shift about;  
Amongst his friends he picked a living out.  
He did not care so much to be invited,  
He scorned the day, and loved to be benighted;  
He was not curious, nor did love to hear,  
Y'are welcome, Sir; for that's your only cheer;  
Nor was he dainty, give him what you will,  
His hungry stomach would digest it still,  
For under Forma pauperis he would eat,  
He would not pick a quarrel with his meat,  
Though it were musty: he had lost his smell,  
His nose being sunk, promised no tales to tell.   

Upon a time he walking in the street,  
Did meet this whore: and thus he did her greet:  
(She looked on him, as though she had not known him,  
She scorned him poor, and was ashamed to own him.)   Letcher. 

Thou painted quean! hast thou forgot me now  
Thou hast undone me! shall I tell thee how,  
Thou hedge-bird trull! thou didst abuse me first.  
I'was blest before, but by thee made accursed.  
I met thee walking, as I crossed the field,  
And spoke in jest; thou didst in earnest yield  
To my first motion: so I gave thee wine;  
But thy lascivious and thy wanton twine  
Did so bewitch me, that I went astray;  
Fool that I was! to be so drawn away  
With such a Trull! O! thy dissembling face  
That did enchant me! brought me to disgrace!   

Thy eyes consented with thy flattering tongue  
To work my ruin; shall I bear this wrong  
Without revenge? I spent my means on thee;  
Thou wilt not know me in my misery.  
Behind my back for me thou framest thy mocks,  
Thou rotten whore, of thee I got the pox.  
While I had money, thou wouldst often swear,  
Of all that lived, to thee I was most dear.  
Now all is gone, thou leav'st me in distress!  
(But painted fire it can no heat express)  
Dost hold thy colour? art thou not ashamed  
To hear those things that I with grief have named?   Whore. 

What, what's the matter, thou art grown so rude?  
Thou art too bold, my presence to intrude  
Without my leave; this is mad kind of meeting,  
(So like a brute!) is this thy gentle greeting?  
If I had thought thou hadst been such an Ass,  
When thou didst meet me, I'd have let thee pass.  
I did not beg to have thy wine, nor thee,  
'Twas freely proffered; thou wouldst give it me.  
What else beside, I was unwilling to it;  
But thou didst urge me, and didst make me do it.   

My way of living is to use my trade;  
What should I do? was I so handsome made,  
And not for use? pray, was it ever known,  
But without danger one might use her own?  
I had no portion e'er to set me forth;  
And in these times, not any man of worth  
Will take a Maid, though she's adorned with graces,  
(Well borne and bred) till angels show their faces;  
Unless some Vulcan that is coursely bred,  
I ever loathed to give my maidenhead  
To such a Clown: then blame me not to do  
Such things as Nature ever prompt me to.  
I was not bred to labour with my hands,  
I am a prisoner, bound in Cupid's bands;  
All actions entered let them on me lie;  
I will not vex, here will I live and die:   

I knew thee not when thou cam'st to me first,  
Thou mightst have parted having quenched thy thirst;  
And kept away till I had sent for thee;  
What is the spite that thou dost owe to me?  
Thy money's spent, which makes thy envy burn,  
A trull of six pence might have served thy turn:  
Thou being privy to thy poor estate,  
Yet comest to me! I do thy baseness hate!  
I had thy money, thou hadst pennyworths for it;  
Thou wast content then, now thou dost abhor it.   

I thought thou hadst a mint; for I'll say that,  
Thou wast too free, for ever to be fat.  
I loved thee, as I loved another man;  
All of their wares will make the most they can.  
Wouldst have me watch thee in this time of grief?  
The hospitals are bound to give relief  
To men diseased: what wouldst thou have me blamed,  
'Cause thou dost want, or with the pox art shamed?  
Go like a Lecher, 'tis thy cankered sore,  
That was a breeding many years before.  
Let me alone; if once thou dost me wrong,  
My friends at Court shall quickly tame thy tongue.   

Now like a prisoner standing at the bar,  
His speech does falter, and his mind's at war  
Against itself: his very heart doth ache,  
His hands do tremble, and his knees do quake,  
His eyes do sparkle, with his hair upright,  
His looks are ghastly, which might well affright  
A man to see: his lips began to mutter,  
But shame did silence them, he could not utter  
A word composed; but when he did begin  
To make reply, he thought upon his sin.   

Poor man distressed! betwixt these two extremes,  
Wake and be silent, or discourse in's dreams.  
She never changed, nor shameful grief nor fear  
Did once possess her: waiting still to hear  
His fruitless answer: being in a trance,  
He doth at last his spirit thus advance.   Letcher. 

Vile strumpet! guilty of all filthiness,  
The badge of shame; none can it so express  
As thou deserv'st! thou art a loathsome grave,  
Thou swallow'st men alive; still thou dost crave.  
The mouth of hell, or else the Devils jaws,  
Come short of thee: thou open'st wide thy claws.  
Bring'st souls, and bodies, and their states in thrall;  
Hell takes no money; but thou takest all.  
The Spider's venom, and the loathsome Toad  
Are not so venom, as to make abode  
With such a Serpent: go and hide thy face,  
For to thy sex thou art a great disgrace.   

Venus is chaste, when she's compared to thee,  
And Messalina that was a whore so free,  
Which bought her pleasure at so great a price;  
Thou sell'st thy sin, which doth increase thy vice.  
Thou hell on earth! let ages blaze thy shame,  
Let time and death seal curses on thy name!  
And let a Poet put thy sins in rhyme,  
When thou art dead and rotten in thy slime!   

Oh! let that place, where first I met this jade,  
Be barren ever, let a dismal shade  
Attend upon it, let that silent earth  
Breed only vermin with a monsters birth!  
You fruitless plants, how could you then abide me?  
Time blast those trees because they did not hide me:  
And let those springs that murmured other times,  
For being silent then, share in those crimes  
That were committed! let them still be dry,  
Or filled with tears; and let all passers by  
Take and preserve some as a monument,  
To show my sins, they may the like prevent!   

And let that path which I went o'er to see,  
Be crossed by none it brought a cross to me!  
And ever let that whispering gale of wind  
Be banished too; that would not prove so kind  
As once to check me! let the light'ned air  
Swell up with grief, and break with close despair.   

And let those birds that were as Testes to it,  
Because they saw, and yet did let me do it,  
ne'er sing again; and when they seek their meat  
With empty craws, let them find none to eat!   

And let that T av. rne, where we first did drink,  
Break first the Master, after let it sink!  
And let those boys, that did at us connive,  
Bear half the sin; and let them never thrive!  
Oh! let that house which doth resemble hell,  
(The place I mean where once this whore did dwell)  
Be made a dung hill: for it did invite me  
To sup with care, for sorrow to benight me!   

I am a pattern of this wished ill;  
And on record my sins must tarry still:  
Black like my crimes! so is this doleful letter,  
It may preserve the good, or make them better.  
If any one shall read this tragic line  
That's guilty; let him join his heart with mine,  
To live again, before we die for ever;  
I'll give the onset from the world to sever.  
And let the man who is endued with grace,  
In this foul glass, behold his fairer face;  
With care to keep it from this sinful stain.  
Tears will not cleanse it, for 'tis died in grain.    

SECT. 7. Of a child found murdered by a whore the mother of it.  

A Newborn infant, that was found of late,  
Did move beholders to compassionate,  
And drop down tears; (for'twas a dreadful sight!  
I wish the murtheress may be brought to light.  
I do not doubt, though present time conceal it,  
Time will e'er long grow angry, and reveal it.  
justice's divine, with justice here below,  
Will find such out, and make all murderers know  
Their heinous fact: muse leave them till that time,  
This object now may satisfy my Rhyme.)   

This infant by a woman first was found  
Rolled up together: lying on the ground,  
Put in a bag, being black; 'twas thought therefore  
The mother of it was a black-bag whore.  
'Twas clad in mourning, and that made the shroud  
'Twas buried in; (yet other was allowed)  
The neck was broke, and twisted round about,  
And wringed so hard, that streams of blood ran out  
Upon the corpse: the neck was black and blue,  
The face was pale, the corpse of sable hue:  
The blood half water (which might raise up fears)  
As though the infant mingled it with tears.  
One of the jaws was broke: or else in crying  
It might have peacht the murder when 'twas dying,  
Or moved some pity; but 'tis always known,  
They're worse than beasts who do destroy their own.   

Poor harmless infant! there's no reason why  
Thou being borne, that guiltless thou shouldst die.  
Yet be content, death ended hath thy strife,  
Thou mightst have lived in misery: thy life  
Have kindred claimed with a continual death:  
Thou to thy Maker hast resigned thy breath,  
And in a moment thou thy race didst run,  
Thy life did end so soon as 'twas begun.  
Thou art redeemed now out of all distress,  
But yet the murder that is ne'er the less.  
Although thine eyes were closed with envious night,  
Thou shalt behold the everlasting light.  
Thy tender limbs shall to perfection grow  
In glory: but we mortals know not how.  
Thy soul that God infused, shall now appear  
Before him, and be filled with comfort there.   

Yet I must weep! oh! call my partners hither,  
'Tis fit the jurymen should weep together  
For this vile murder! 'tis a dreadful sin!  
He shall be foreman that will first begin:  
In broken language let it be expressed,  
For Interjections now are counted best.  
Let every one here answer to his name,  
And keep Decorum; spreading out the shame  
Of this foul deed, and make the air to speak,  
And cause the bowels of the earth to break;  
Or bring the murtheress out: oh! make it tremble!  
For it is solid, and cannot dissemble.   

And let that house where now she draws her breath,  
Sink down, or spew her out, 'pon pain of death.  
Or let her conscience sting, make all appear,  
Or dreaming cry, The murtheress is here:  
Or else the stones, when she doth pass along,  
First make her slip, and after find a tongue  
To make her known. Let Constables not spare  
To use their power: let it be their case  
To search suspected houses, round about,  
And for this purpose send the Beadles out.  
There are such nests of night-birds in all places,  
That are to be examined in such cases.  
Oh, that they were removed, more Bridewells made;  
That all might there beat hemp, and drive a trade!  
And if by any means you chance to find her,  
Bring her to Newgate, let the jailor bind her:  
And at the Sessions have her sentence; then  
Go visit Tyburn: now 'tis new again.   

Come, answer here, O! murtheress, where art?  
Thou art not quit; for first, or last, the smart  
Will have thee outlawed, and arrest thy life,  
No bail shall free thee; then begins thy strife.  
Was't not a fault thou didst commit before,  
When thou to serve thy lust didst turn a whore?  
(A foul offence!) and prostitute thyself  
Unto a villain, or a roguish else?  
But to a sin so bad, thou add'st a worse,  
To wrap thyself fast in a helpless curse.  
A work of darkness! thus, thus to destroy  
Thy fruit? thyself too thou hast cast away.  
Where was the voice of Nature? none call to it?  
If any call, she never lets them do it.  
Or where was conscience? that she did not strive  
To tie thy hands, and save thy babe alive?  
Hadst thou no thought of God? was he not there?  
Did not his judgements strike thy heart with fear?  
Nor what Christ did, or suffered? nor the story  
Of man's mortality? nor heaven's glory?  
Nor of thy death? nor yet of hell below?  
Didst thou forget, or didst thou never know  
Thou hadst a soul, that living lives for ever?  
If't dies in sin, it is redeemed never.   

Hadst thou no friend to speak a word in season?  
And then to tell thee, 'twas against all reason  
To kill the infant? thou hadst no pretence  
For this cursed fact: it was against all sense!  
Thy Councillor, alas! it was the Devil,  
He did command, nay, urged thee to this evil.  
Didst think to hide thy shame? that thought was vain:  
Thou layest it open, and thy inward pain  
Gives strength unto it: still thy hateful sore  
Breaks out with shame, the Sessions bring thee more:  
But at the Gallows shame will then be double:  
Conceited freedom brings thee into trouble.   

Before, th'Apparator might bring thee in  
To pay, or else do penance for thy sin;  
Thy life was not in danger. Now 'tis true,  
The Hangman he will charge thee. So adieu.  
At first, Citations might have served to charge thee,  
Pay and away; but who can now enlarge thee?  
They'd not set thee on horseback: being tried,  
Now all thy privilege is, thou shalt ride.  
There will be much ado to bring thee to't;  
When all is done, th'hadst better go a foot.  
When thou art gone, thy shame shall tarry still,  
My tell-tale Muse will everblaze thy ill.   

All beasts are loving ever to their young,  
They'll feed, preserve, and rescue them from wrong:  
Nay, they will feed their young, how e'er they fare:  
Nature pleads for't: 'tis strange beasts have such care:  
The birds do labour, up and down they fly,  
To gather food against their young ones cry:  
And are so tender of them, one will stay  
To look to home, when th'other is away.  
Nay, some so loving, that they'll spend their blood.  
And lose their lives to do their young ones good.  
But thou art cursed; the murder speaks no less,  
A hellish policy thou didst express.  
The Bear grows angry when she wants a whelp,  
Thou thou story'dst thy infant when it had no help.  
The birds do shame thee, they their young ones feed,  
Thou murther'st thine, thou art a Fowl indeed!   

Thou art afraid of whispering; and thy life  
Is but like death; call death to end thy strife.  
Thy cursed practice which the Devil taught thee,  
Is like a witch, for to a straited hath brought thcc.  
Unlike to all thou art, but him in sinning,  
Who was a murderer from the beginning,  
I'll leave thee now, and end my mournful tones;  
Time calls thee in; for now the Gallows groans.   

The Epitaph.  
You passers by, take notice of these stones  
Behaviour towards an infant cast away;  
They'll overlook this parcel of small bones,  
And keep them safe until the Judgement day.  
Peace, she is dead: but if you ask me, why?  
She was begot, conceived, and borne to die.    

SECT. 8. Of two brave Blades, that would hire a whore betwixt them by the year.  

TWo roaring blades being on a time in drink,  
(I censure not, judge you: did they no; stink?  
Fierce time did blush, when it had heard & seen them)  
They parled about keeping a whore between them.  
I know a wench, Tom said unto the other,  
(I'faith; Nick, I love thee, sworn I am thy brother)  
That's very handsome, had she but apparel;  
Let's take her home, for we shall never quarrel;  
Allow her means, and use her both alike,  
For she is loving, and I know she'll strike.  
She's well proportioned, and she's very young,  
And middle sized, graced with a pleasing tongue:  
She'll be content with thirty pounds a year;  
We'll save one half from wine, strong ale and beer;  
Nick, speak the word; what, shall we both go to her?  
Or bear thy share, and I will go and woo her.   

Nick paused a while, his breath so strong did smell,  
As if't came from the upper part of hell;  
Or else to say, to lessen this his fault,  
It came as from the bottom of a vault:  
Being raised, at last, he belched out the smoke,  
Then drank his cup, and thus his mind he broke:   

I like the motion, if she be so neat,  
she'll be for us a dish of dainty meat.  
we'll take her over, for such ware is dear  
With us; or dangerous, though they're plenty here;  
I'll pay one half, but yet I'll see her first;  
At any time she'll serve to quench our thirst.  
But yet I fear she'll trade with other men,  
Which if she doth, we'll turn her home again.   Tom. 

Tush, never fear, we'll order so the case  
To mew her up, she shall not show her face  
At any time; for only thee and I  
Will keep her close, that none shall her espy:  
we'll take a room in private, do not doubt,  
Though one should seek, he shall not find her out;  
Her habit shall be plain, her face still masked  
she'll constant be, though she be often asked:  
If she do prove to be a fickle lass,  
we'll strip her bare, and turn her out to grass.  
Farewell till night, I'll drink but this carouse,  
Then go and revel in some bawdy house.   

A speech of one in the company.  
You make me blush to hear your consultation!  
What? are you shameless? is not condemnation  
Appointed still to wait upon your sin?  
Or d'yce forget your souls, that you begin  
Your hell on earth? what, do you not regard  
God, nor yourselves? what, is there no reward  
For honesty? or is your shape, your stature,  
And dispositions bend to ruin nature?   Nick. 

Pish, hold your clack:  
Are you in earnest? or do you speak in jest?  
'Tis bad enough, is I should think the best.  
Pray let me speak, for reason's on my side,  
My ears do tingle, nor can I abide  
To hear your lavish casting out your shame;  
I will not flatter, least: bear the blame  
Equal with you: remember Death will strain  
Upon your spirits. Where will be your gain?  
Or pleasure, when you are returned to dust?  
Then ghastly crawlers feed upon you must.  
Yet sin will live, when you are in your graves,  
And prove a foe: sell not yourselves for slaves.   Tom. 

Go prating ass! Nick, drink to me in beer;  
This fool does preach a chamber-lecture here!  
The colt does play, while bayard eats the chaff,  
The sow that's silent, cares up all the draff.  
Hang him, he's worse, if time and place would fit,  
He'd hug a wench, and all that have but wit  
Would do as much. Would he were hanged for me  
That would not do't: but we shall scape all three.  
We must take pleasure, we shall ne'er be younger,  
We'll leave it then, when we can have't no longer.   Reply. 

I see'ts in vain to speak, you both want reason;  
You're led by sense like beasts, and practice treason  
Against your souls, let senseless creatures teach you,  
Know, heaven's angry; vengeance, that can reach you.  
The clouds consult to bring a storm of weather,  
The thunderbolts come now in troops together,  
Charged full of fury: if you will not yield,  
You'll have no quarter in that bloody field.  
See how the streamers in the air are spread,  
Some blue, some white, and some like blood are red,  
Threatening destruction; some of sable hue,  
They seem to mourn for men turned beasts like you.  
The air is so corrupted with your breath,  
It spits-out threatening, and it sends out death.  
Look how the river doth both swell and rage,  
Chiding your folly: it would clear the stage  
Of such vile actors; but'tis bended so,  
Although it murmurs, out it cannot go.  
It hath done justice on the like before;  
Fire next must purge, water can purge no more:  
These trees look thin, the leates fall off with fear,  
Those that abide hang trembling quaking there,  
The dust does creep together, and combined  
To turn to vermin, or to make you blind:  
The stones have all consented with the dust,  
And wait to be revenged upon your lust;  
Th'house cannot keep you, speak I what I think,  
Your hellborn language, that will make it sink.  
All things are snares which for you lie in wait,  
To take you napping, or'tis my conceit.  
The feathered watchmen flying swift about  
Do cry for wrath against your coming out:  
Seeing in your vileness to exceed you strive,  
The earth doth gape, to swallow you alive.  
Then I perceiving dangers were so nigh,  
There left those varlets, and away went I    

SECT. 9 A fruitless dehortation of a friend, to one that was undone by a whore.  

A careless gallant, having quite undone  
Himself, his wife, and mortgaged from his son  
His house, and lands, did meet upon a day  
A faithful friend, who thus to him did say,   

You keep a whore, unto your great disgrace,  
Who hath or will undo you, and your race  
Have cause to curse you: leave these whores who have  
For all your cost, provided you a grave.  
(You call her sister) can a whore love any,  
But for their gold? and so she may love many.  
Leave her betime, or in the Doomsday book  
You'll find your name of all the world forsook.   

This speaking for the present seemed to change  
His mind clean from this whore; 'tis very strange,  
He needs must see her face, and he are her tongue,  
Then he reputes he stayed from her so long.  
He makes a new agreement with this whore,  
And is engaged stronger than before.  
To please her mind, with fury he will stammer,  
Rail at his friend that would dissuade him from her.  
The evil spirit takes on him more hold;  
Nor will he trust him, though he's weak and old.  
Oh! pity him that for a vain delight,  
Hazards his soul to everlasting night!    

SECT. 10. A fight betwixt two Pimps.  

A Pimp went strutting (fearing not a fray)  
Being very brave: (for 'twas a gaudy day)  
Another met him, who did much disgrace him:  
For he was vexed; 'twas he that did displace him.  
Sharp words by gross past, those that then did hear them,  
Did say'twas strange, that flesh & blood could bear them.  
But gaudy Pimp being urged, his sword was drawn,  
But being rusty, newly come from pawn,  
He could not use it; and his hand did shake,  
His heart for fear made all his body quake.   

The other got the scabert; being tough  
Struck solid blows: poor Whiskin had enough.  
Perhaps his blade was short, or very weak,  
Or else being brittle, was afraid 'twould break:  
Or else being borrowed, would not put him to't;  
Or else he promised that he would not do't:  
Or otherwise I must conclude from hence,  
The hilt was open, ill for his defence.  
Or being cautious (so 'twas very good)  
He was afraid to spill a subjects blood.   

But by and by, he spied his pistoll-gun,  
Then he grew valiant, quickly made him run.  
But how I pray? I'd tell you but for laughter,  
He ran away; the other he ran after.  
As was his raiment worth more than his lands,  
So were his heels preferred before his hands.    

SECT. 11. A heap of Vassals pleading for precedencis, and priority one against the other.  

Crew assembled (where I know not well)  
(They came as from, or travelling towards hell)  
Who should be first and chief of all the rout,  
Was then the point, they did contend about.   Whore. 

The whore speaks first, her argument doth tend  
To prove her calling lawful; and the end  
Will make it good: 'tis honest downright dealing  
To use my tail, to keep my hands from stealing.  
I trade in love, the price I never make;  
What men do give, that I may freely take.  
I do maintain you all, your sweetened gains  
Sprung from the blood which runs along my veins:  
What custom ere comes in, is brought by me;  
Why should not I be first, and chiefly free  
Of this assembly? crumbs to feed a mouse  
Would not be found, nor brooms to sweep the house,  
Were't not for me: pray give me then my due,  
Speak what you think, what ere I say is true.   Pimp. 

Be not so confident: although my place  
Be to attend: 'tis that sets a grace  
Upon you all. I walk along the street  
So spruce, and boldly, powdered very sweet,  
Cocking my beaver, looking big withal,  
The gallants that I meet give me the wall.  
When any come I give'em such content,  
(That they are won) with some fine compliment.  
My comely presence brings in many a guest,  
Besides acquaintance, who above the rest  
Are beneficial; this is no mistake;  
What ere they spond ' is chiefly for my sake.  
Why should not I then be preferred as chief,  
Seeing by my means comes in the most relief?   Pan. 

Thou prating coxcomb! what dost think that I  
Am underling to thee? we'll quickly try  
Which is most useful; I am put in trust  
With all their secrets: reason saith I must  
Be overseer still, I keep the door,  
And let them in, and out, and which is more,  
I suit the wenches to their own complexions,  
If I but speak, they all take my directions.  
My wit does often gain a double fee,  
I stay at home, to make an ass of thee.  
I'm not so fine in deed, but more I thrive,  
Where thou dost get a testar, I get five.  
The custom soon would fail, if I go hence,  
Why should not I have the pre-eminence?   Bawd. 

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.  
I laugh to hear these fools; they domineer;  
Alas! they know their gains, and being here  
Depends upon my love; they make their boast  
Of this, and that; 'tis I that rules the roast.  
The house is mine, the furniture I bought;  
But yet I see much like a thing of nought  
They value me; they might have begged ere this;  
I took them in, lest they should do amiss.  
Although the whore be handsome, she had never  
Been thus preferred, had I not used endeavour  
To cloth and set her out, nor had she been  
But like a novice in this venial sin.   

The Pimp was very poor, till I did raise him,  
And for his comely parts, alas, who did praise him  
Till I had trimmed him? now he's grow ne so proud,  
He'd fain be master; but he's not allowed.  
Priority, the pander is as bad:  
He would usurp the place he never had;  
He has the veils belonging to his place,  
Which puffes him up, I see his ends are base;  
He'd set himself aloft; and than he'd reign,  
Much like a Demigod, and all my train  
Must follow his advice; but soft and fair:  
His words being spoke were soon dissolved to air.  
I spent my time to learn (when I was young)  
This way of living; having used it long.  
Age made me weak, and then I entertained  
Those that did love that way, and still I gained  
Experience in't: you cannot but agree  
That I am chief: youare servants all to me.   Prodigal. 

Here's much ado, and yet but little wit.  
Amongst you all; I can no longer sit,  
To hear your simple prating: I am he  
That every one of you would seem to be.  
Words only make a sound; but 'tis my gold  
That claims priority, and takes fast hold  
Upon the chiefest place; yo'uld quickly make  
Your wants break forth, should I the house forsake.  
I pay the whore, and give the Pimp his fee;  
I give the pander coin, the bawd may see  
Her come in, comes only from my hand;  
You have nor money, house, nor food, nor land  
To succour you; nor any way to thrive,  
But with my purse; I keep you all alive:  
I send in meat, and divers sorts of wine,  
I sold my lands for you: this cost of mine,  
Joined with my love, the highest place may crave,  
It is my right, and all I'm like to have.  
Be wise, and silent, put me still before,  
Your hopes depend on me; I'll say no more.   Thief. 

Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho.  
Me thinks I see, as once at Sutors-hill  
A silly gull; who having had his will  
To break o'er hedges; being took at last,  
I robbed him of his gold, and bound him fast.  
Although he made his moan, away went I  
To free myself, but there I let him lie.   

This brainless ass, that now relates a story  
Of what he has, and seems to raise his glory  
From what he has beslowed upon a whore,  
(The bawdy-house doth gain, but he's made poor)  
When all is spent, he hath no other way  
To help himself, and yet (forsooth) he'll say  
Precedency is his: he does beguile  
Himself with hopes: I cannot choose but smile.  
The day, the place are mine; and he shall find  
That I must go before, he come behind.  
When I am out of cash, I scorn to borrow,  
I have a trick to banish all my sorrow:  
One happy night may blow me into stock,  
Or with a Pistol, or a stab, or knock,  
I gain a weighty Purse: or, if that miss,  
I have another way as good as this:  
I'll cheat, and steal, and rob a house by night;  
And having got my prey, I take my flight.  
I have a share from all that rob about,  
Iway-lay some, and others find them out.   

This fool that sold his land, will ne'er believe  
How much I got upon one Christmas eve  
At Hide-parke-corner, or at Bagshot Downes  
Another time, among the countrey-clownes.  
I cannot want, unless that crooked tree  
Does choke my hopes, and prove a foe to me.  
What can the whore, the pander, pimp, or bawd  
Do of themselves? or he that does applaud  
His crazy humour? only in the spring  
He'll chirp about, and like a Cuckoo sing ';  
But moult away in winter: when my time  
And fortunes usher me into my prime.  
I must relieve them all: judge, who is best?  
Shall I not be preferred above the rest?  
The case is plain; those that have ears and fight,  
Will know I challenge nothing but my right.  
As for the pleaders, all their brains are weak:  
I am content to let the Umpire speak.    

SECT. 12. The Devil's Umpire; their causes; the fearful conclusion.  

THey plead for place in sin: they might as well  
Strive which shall have priority in hell.  
The Devil's Umpire to decide the case.  
He comes in hellish-state to take his place;  
And by degrees he strives to bring 'em in  
As fast unto their pains, as to their sin.   

Thus he begins: ho! can you not agree?  
I'll make you friends if you'll be ruled by me:  
You're all my servants; why should you fall out?  
Sith I am umpire to resolve this doubt,  
I'll do with judgement: first, the whore's my child,  
Though yet she be not, she may be as vild  
As mistress Bawd: I love to keep her fine,  
For I do use her, as a hook and line  
To catch jack-simple: let her stay her time,  
And she will be as perfect in her crime  
As any of the rest; in act, and tongue:  
Alas! you must consider she's but young!   

My pretty pimping Boy! be of good cheer,  
Thou comest as bravely on as any here,  
Being but lately entered: this I find  
Thy will is good; that does content my mind.  
Observe, and gain experience from the rest,  
There's none too wise to learn; thou mayst be best:  
Cheer up, go bravely on, and thou shalt have  
The chiefest place, and what else thou wilt crave.   

Ho! come my little Pander, thou art he  
To whom I do commit much secrecy:  
I ever found thee faithful in thy place;  
Thy mind is bend to honour, praise, and grace  
My kingdom here below: the place is thine;  
But make no wordsoned, for the gift is mine.  
Go on my bully, as thou hast begun;  
I'll pay thee bravely, when thy work is done.   

Come, come, my old acquaintance! gentle Bawd!  
Thy constant service I must needs applaud:  
The Queen of hell salutes thee; Dost thou smile?  
To think thou hast been absent all this while?  
Thou hast my love; I'll keep thee at my cost.  
Now take my hand, I think there's no love lost:  
Thou served it me young; when that way did not hold,  
Thou didst me better service being old:  
In harboring those that have a mind to play  
Their lands, their time, their souls and all away.  
I put much trust in thee, and thou art true  
Still to my kingdom; honour is thy due,  
Pre-eminence is thine: come down to me,  
Thou dost not know how welcome thou shalt be!  
But hinder not thy business: let me know  
A day or two before! but we below  
Are ne'er unfurnished; we can entertain  
(In hellish pomp) thyself, and all thy train.  
Thy house is like to mine, but that 'tis less,  
Lightet and cooler too; but thou mayst guess,  
How well our guests do suit: until thy tomb  
Doth close thee up, take thou the chiefest room.   

My Spark of velvet! I'm glad to hear and see,  
That thou reposest confidence in me!  
Thy will I do accept, thou spendest thy store  
To honour sin: what can a man do more?  
Thou shalt not want, thou needest not to repent,  
I have more ways (when all thy store is spent)  
To raise thee up: I make no doubt ere long,  
Thou wilt be fit to grapple in the throng,  
For this high place of honour: then I will  
Praise thy endeavours, and applaud thy skill.  
Persist, sweet Honey-chops! lay't on, and spare not:  
Some few may envy us: what's that? we care not.   

What, what, my bonny Hackster! thou comest last?  
Thou art my son, this title was not passed  
In vain upon thee: thou didst never give  
Occasion of disgrace: but how to live  
In honour, reputation, 'twas thy care  
To be a man of dread, of courage rare.  
Thou dost affright the world; such is thy state,  
They value thee not at a common rate.  
thouart free to all my friends; I'll say to thee,  
Thou stealest from them, who fain would steal from me.  
Nor art thou cowardly, but bold, and brave  
In all thine acts: if some penurious slave  
Falls but into thy clutches, thou wilt make  
Him leave his bags, or thou his life wilt take.  
Thou be ar'st my image; I have robbed the world,  
Although I was into a prison hurled,  
I venture still. What's murder, but a crime  
Which I have made almost as old as time?  
Spend upon whores, and drink what thou dost get,  
Fear not the crooked tree; why shouldst thou set  
A doubt before thee? try if thou canst win  
Thine Host, to make a bawdy house of's Inn:  
That will promote thy Art. For aught I see,  
Priority of place belongs to thee.  
Continue in thy course, and let me hear  
Thy valour speak: I'll help thee, never fear,  
It grieves me thus to part; but you all know,  
My greatest business lies in hell below.   

But, at their parting, think how pale the ground  
Did look upon those mortals! what a sound  
Did echo in the air! the blushing sky  
Did hide itself with clouds! the heavens great eye  
Was bloodshot, dark, and dim; he had resigned  
His office up; but that he was confined  
Within his bounds. The Heavens dropped down tears,  
The orbs grew angry, and the earth with fears  
Was overcharged; the smother streams did glide  
More hastily, to turn against the tide:  
The plants did shake, all losing of their hold:  
Only the barren Bramble grew more bold.  
The beasts, deprived of sense, do gently stand;  
Their happiest timelyes in the Butcher's hand.  
The fowls of heaven, that did sing before,  
Are now grown silent, they can sing no more.  
Poor tired spirits! can no comfort have,  
They'd fain exchange with death to get a grave.  
They die alive; but being much distressed,  
One amongst many thus his mind expressed.   

What's all this rumour, but an empty bubble  
Dropped from the skirts of hell? the shame will double  
Upon them shortly! all the hateful rout  
That plead for sinful praise, shall fly about,  
Tossed with a blast from hell: then they will see  
Sin; pain and shame will have precedency!  
This Umpire, that would seem to please'em all,  
Will bring them in, and leave them in such thrall,  
That time can ne'er release; when they shall dwell  
With him that hath the greatest place in hell.  
The Cannibal when he a stranger saw,  
‛ He strangely entertained him in his maw:  
But this man-eating Devil draws them to't,  
He'll burn their flesh, and broil their souls to boot.  
All things will quiet be, when spirits are laid,  
The clouds dissolve; the Heavens that are stayed,  
Will move in order; and the earth will spring,  
The plants recover strength, the birds will sing,  
Poor souls that dwell on earth will then rejoice,  
That made the best, though not the suddenest choice.  
The bawd, the thief, with all that did attend them,  
Must have their doom: nor time, nor means could mend them.  
How is this world deceived! how does it woo  
Hells breathed delights! alas! what does it do  
To stifle nature! put the rules of reason  
Quite out of joint! oh! this fatal treason!  
The storm is past, which was a type of death,  
Rest now my Muse, for thou art out of breath.    

SECT. 13. Of an Irish Footman's entertainment in a bawdy house; and what misery followed.  

AN Irish Teige, once walking late at night,  
Did cast his eye upon a loathsome spirit,  
But covered o'er with flesh; that painted too:  
Her tongue being oiled, she thus poor Teige did woo.   

Pray, Sir, come in, a friend that loves you here  
Would see your face, and drink a cup of beer,  
To talk, and laugh; such time is sweetly spent,  
That ' grease with mirth; you shall have good content.  
He hearing this, stopped; and his thoughts began  
To rove, not thinking who should be the man;  
He thus replied at last:   

Mastris, me tank yo sor your love an care,  
What man is him tat sands for me? I dare  
Ga' in Sine Patrick's name, and sew me face,  
It shoned be zed tat Irish mons be base:  
‛ Shave argee, sait, I'll drink some ale, won, beer:  
Vll see te mon, drank an be jocund here:  
I serve an Anglish Gantelmon, that have  
'Gan me some skillings, made me feign an brave.   

But coming in, there's no man to be found,  
But womankind great store: Teiges brains being drowned,  
Was fit for any company: he did  
Reveal his shame, which nature always hid.  
The Bawd perceiving that an easy bait  
Would take this Flounder; then she asked him straight,  
What wench he'd please to have; one young, or old,  
A coviser, or a sinner; they are sold  
As they are high, low, young, fair, richly tired;  
Or else as coyne's brought in; so are they hired.   

Now Teige thus answers; Me ha' won hueg meend  
To tat foin Duck as hoydes her face beheend,  
Pre mastris let me ha' hur, an I shall  
Give hur some argee, an my zelf an all.  
It is agreed that Nancie must receive him,   

Into her chamber; how they did deceive him,  
Time will discover:) there a while they stayed,  
But how they dallied, how they sinned, and played,  
judge by the sequel: having vainly spent  
The time allotted for their merriment;  
Teige searched his pocket; he was freely willing,  
To gratify her love with half a shilling.   

But coming down, the Bawd enquiry made,  
How he was pleased? what match was driven? what trade?  
What he had gi'en her? further ask when,  
He did intend to visit her again?   

He told the Bawd how they their time did pass,  
How they agreed, how bountiful he was,  
To give her sixpence. Then the Bawd called out,  
Why Nancie, Nancie, come, resolve the doubt,  
What this man had? what thou hadst of this man?  
Then Nancie cried, anon (forsooth, anon.)  
What had this man I ask? forsooth I gave  
Him his desire, he did but ask and have:  
Embraces by the gross, a curious song,  
A large Coranto; kisses mixed among;  
We did in all things very well agree  
But this; I had but sixpence for my fee.   

How wench! but sixpence? who shall pay the rest?  
I thought h'had been an openhanded guest:  
Corantoes are not sold at such a rate,  
Nor will I lose my money, though't be late.  
Give me five shillings (truly, Sir, 'tis true)  
I cannot 'bate a penny of my due.  
An Angel is indeed my usual price,  
Where once a Crown, I have an Angel twice.   

Then Teige dives down into his slops, there found  
But just so much that freed him: turning round,  
Away ran he most nimbly; for his cash,  
Was for his learning, chopped away for trash.  
He was ashamed to come in's Master's sight,  
His heart being heavy, and his purse so light.  
But shortly after he began to find  
Some swellings, where guess you: and then his mind,  
Being charged with grief, complained, & thus he said:   

Hooe I be pained? me troth me be afraid  
ay chee be spoil d: mine belly all is sure,  
Mine fait and trotla, Nancie was an whore;  
Mine pictures all been spended; none dear be  
wol bring a Churgion, and give him a see;  
‛ Cheed pa'em well again, when chee con run;  
But now chee coned go we'll: chee be undone:  
Unless some course been takin! oh tat cheat!  
Me mo●● is sore, chee cannot yet mine meat.  
If some that loved Sine Patrick ded ma now,  
Deyed give me argees, they would vavor sew,  
An heilp me in does case; de Churgin pa,  
Chee should be well again Sine Patrick's da.  
Eels chee shall lose mine Master, and be vein  
To starve, or beg, or eyes go whom again.  
Dei'le take te whore as did entice me in!  
Rope take te Bawd, as did we me begin  
To make da match! shame take Nancie, vor she  
(Chee be afeard) ha gi'en te pock ta me!   

A purse is made; a Surgeon now is brought,  
He finds the truth; and yet the matter's naught;  
The grief's laid open; and the Surg'on's feign  
To lance, and stew poor Tiege. Oh! than the pain  
Forced brinish tears! as he distracted stands,  
My Muse now leaves him in the Surg'ons hands.    

SECT. 14. Arabble of Cheaters in a two fold plot discovered.  

A Pack of cheating villains, went to drink,  
And spent a night; & with that spent their chink,  
And when the night was gone, still they were stained  
With deeds of darkness: as they all remained  
Together in a knot, being hungry, they  
Did cast a plot, how they might take a prey.  
As they did thus consult, a Maid passed by,  
And one among the rest did east an eye  
Upon her; and perceiving on her head  
Raw flesh good store, although the had no bread.  
This Cheater cheapens, soo●e the bargain's made:  
And now to show he's master of his trade,  
The Maid must carry it home; and as they went  
He found a trick to finish his intent.   

A Gentleman being walking near that place,  
He goes to him, salutes him with such grace,  
(And made) as if he knew him; and to hide  
His plot, he asked for one who did abide  
near to that place: he judging by his coat  
He was some Pimp, or else a shirk of note,  
Slighted his words: then coming to the Maid,  
Where she had for him with her burden stayed,  
Told her that was his Master; she must go  
To him for pay, his worship told him so.  
He'd trouble her no more, he'd take the pains  
To carry it home: this project of his brains  
Deceived the silly girl: h'has taken away  
The Pigeons, and the Pullet's: for her pay.  
She goes unto the Gentleman, but the  
Owed her no money; she did plainly see,  
How she was cheated: then half wild, half mad  
Home she returned; 'twas all the help she had.   

Now they have got this meat, if they can think  
Howed shall be dressed, and compass bread and drink  
With such another trick; then they will roar,  
And to increase their mirth they'll have a whore.  
'Tis brought into a Tavern, there 'tis dressed;  
They eat most sreely, swearing 'tis the best  
That ever men did eat! nor can they dine  
Without great store, and divers sorts of wine.  
They spent their time in drinking healths about;  
Sol lights them in, the Moon must light them out:  
They call for pottles, where's this rogue so long?  
But all their purses are not sixpence strong.   

But when black night had in his shady throne  
Triumphed a while, they in their canting tone  
Expressed their minds: and being all amort  
They plotted to begane, which spoiled their sport.  
One project failed, the second was as vain:  
Then speaks a third, who had a subtle brain:   

You are simple gulls! one plot is good enough  
To free us all; we'll play at blindmans-buffe,  
The Drawer shall be one; let's make him drunk,  
Blind him, and slink away: then said the punk,  
There's no way else to do't; come, this is it  
That quits the score: all praised him for his wit.  
They call a fresh for wine, before they part  
They mean to drink, just every one a quart.  
The Drawer drinks his share; they brought his mind,  
To make the number up at hoodman blind.  
A shirk being hoodwinked stood behind the door,  
He gropt about, at last he caught the whore;  
She takes her turn (but yet with much ado)  
And having roved at large, a bout or two,  
She was more nimble; but of all that saw her  
She had the praise, when she had catcht the Drawer,  
He's bound up close, because he knows the place,  
They doubled up the cloth about his face.   

If this plot fail, 'twould put'em all in fear,  
For 'tis the last; their jest, and hope lie here:  
He was but dull, when they had hid his sight,  
He minds no bill, his head alone was light.  
He feels about, but as this fool did play,  
In earnest, they slunk by degrees away.  
Below they bid'em welcome, never said  
Call down the Drawer, see if all be paid.   

The Drawer having gropt so long about,  
Nor felt, nor heard a man; began to doubt  
That he was catcht: he being unmasked, there's none  
That he can find; his playfellows are gone.  
With that his heart was much possessed with fear,  
Nor dares he to go down, nor yet stay there.   

But how at last he gave his answer in,  
How he was paid, how's fellows did begin  
To jeer him with his play: how he was shamed,  
(For after this he blind-mans-buffe was named:)  
I will not make report, nor will I sweep  
The channels for those vermin that did creep  
Away so slily: let this pack of knaves  
Be hated living, scorned in their graves;  
Let golden Phoebus with his piercing eye  
Disclose such vassals! Luna still descry  
Their ways by night! let day and night consent  
To bring them to some open punishment!  
Let age which is the Register of times,  
Record their shame! let nothing blot those crimes  
But tears of sorrow! oh! let all beware  
From such examples! who with hell would share?    

SECT. 15. Of an outlandish Nunncrie that was a brothel-house; and how discovered.  
Henric. Bibellius monialis nobilis.  

A German Nunnery was once erected,  
Only for noble Ladies: being protected,  
By no less power than did sure with state:  
(They were maintained at a lofty rate)  
And to restrain desire, they mew'd'em in;  
But afterwards it proved a house for sin.  
For growing up in years, their minds did run  
To break the thread which they in youth had spun.  
Young blood is wanton, and it hath desire  
T'increase the flame, and mingle oil with fire.  
Marry age they were denied; that place must be  
A cankered snare to their virginity.   

When freez-clad winter with his cloudy shade  
Had chilled Apollo's beams, and did invade  
The Countries with his haile-shot, and did hide  
The earth with Mantles, the fleet swelling tide  
Had catcht a cold; the brooks could no way pass,  
Because the streams were pickled up in glass,  
All d. scords kept their turns, the mourn full air  
Was over spread with clouds, and black despair.  
The heat that's least alive, does take its hold  
In private corners; yet the furious cold  
Does haunt it still; the birds are freest from harm;  
For they have featherbeds to keep'em warm.  
The beasts did feel the blast, and shrunk together,  
Their hides being tanned alive: the blustering weather  
Keeps rendezvous; proclaims no other thing,  
But (roaring) cries, that AEolus is King.  
Then every tree received a fara'l wound,  
And tender plants did languish in a swound.  
With his keen breath, be smoothed the watery plains,  
And made clear passage for the lofty swains.   

In this sharp season, brave young lads (whose ends  
Were to salute their sisters, and their friends)  
Were met together; and they did consent  
To spend a day or two in merriment,  
With these young ladies: being welcome there,  
And entertained with mirth and royal cheer:  
The time with them grew warm, their April yecres  
Brought on untimely May; and cancelled fears.   

For after supper (having pleasing sport)  
The Nuns with those that did to them resort  
Were dancing in the hall; one ran about,  
And suddenly put all the candles out.  
Then every man laid hold upon a Nun,  
Which with consent did into corners run.  
But in this Night-prize, one among the rest,  
Applauds his fortune, he had catcht the best.  
But walking in the dark, o'th' sudden mist her,  
And when she spoke, he knew it was his sister.   

Then he cried out, ho! some one change with me;  
I've light upon my sister, she will be  
For any but myself. Sin all they did;  
But Fame was moved, and would not have it hid,   

A shameful visit! hateful love is shown!  
Sin, death, and helldo ever loathe their own.  
Societies of sin, masked with a show  
Of strict devotion, next to hell we know,  
Do take their ranks; for barren shows are cursed,  
A'nd hypocrites are of all people worst.  
How hatefull's that profession, that restrains  
Virgins from marriage! when their swelling veins  
Break into law less lusts, their acts are vild;  
The father's robbed thus of his hopeful child.  
And Priories, when they received their rent,  
Engaged the yeoman (else they'd have'em shent)  
To bring a virgin fair, and in her prime,  
That they might keep her until such a time,  
(Then turn her out with shame) this they thought good,  
'Twas not for lust, ' was but to purge their blood.  
They are the bane of people where they dwell:  
They make such houses Nurseries for hell.    

SECT. 16. Of a Lecher, and how the Devil assumed the shape of a Malesactresse that had been hanged; and lay with him.  
Dr. Stroza Cigognu, nobilis Vinetinus Theologus & Philosophus. Lib. de magia omnifaria, etc.  

A Wanton man (if I a man may call him)  
Engaged to lust; shame did at last be fall him.  
In whoredom, drunkenness he spent his time;  
His lodging suited to his loathsome crime.   

But walking all alone along the street  
(Being very dark) he did a woman meet;  
And heard her muttering as she went along,  
Complaining of her husband; and the wrong  
That she received: how she was much abused,  
Turned out of doors, and how her friends were used,  
This lustful Ape, thinks he has got a prey,  
Pities her case, and thus to her did say:   

Fair mistress, walk with me, and you shall have  
A lodging to your mind; I only crave  
Your love for rent; 'tis cheap, althoughed be best,  
Accept this kindness; you shall be my guest.   

Small courtship served; away with him she went,  
To what he did desire, she gave consent:  
And when he had beheld her in the light,  
Found her exceeding fair: oh! how her sight  
Did ravish him! both in a bed they lay,  
Where they did spend some time: but when the day  
Broke in upon them, all delights were passed:  
(He turned about) for she had breathed her last:  
Her corpse lay by him, cold as any stone;  
He felt her carcase, but her life was gone.   

Then fear and shame possessed his raving mind;  
He called the Bawd, nor he, nor she can find  
The cause of this her death, they're much dismayed;  
Nor can they hide what sin hath now bewrayed.  
The neighbours heard it, and came running in,  
They knew her face; she suffered for her sin  
The sentence of the Law; death was her pain:  
But yet the Devil took her up again  
To do more work: (with policies to strive,)  
Al hough she served him all her time alive.  
But Succuba is gone, left sin and shame  
Upon the score, to blast this villain's name.  
She's buried once again; she'll rise no more  
To case the Devil, or to turn a whore.   

But now this Lecher finds his fact is known,  
His hope, his name, his credit's overthrown,  
How Gentlemen his company did shun,  
How every one that knew what he had done,  
Abhorred his sight: (his friends as all amazed,  
With fear and shame, they strangely on him gazed.)  
And how the guilt did call upon his crime,  
To make his name the byword of the time?  
Grief seized upon him; shame did make him sad,  
His lust was tamed, although his mind was mad.   

In this forlorn estate he lived a space,  
But dying still; he strived to hide his face  
From all the world: the place where he doth dwell  
Doth paint out flames, and represent a hell.  
The flesh that feedshim doth commence a suit  
Against him too: eats like forbidden fruit.  
What's blest, is cursed to him; he spies a fish,  
And thinks he has a Scorpion in his dish.  
H s drink doth change its nature (by his fin)  
'T will not assuage his scalding heat within.  
He hates his gold, and envies his apparel,  
And every day he strives to pick a quarrel  
With what he doth possess; 'twill help to burn him,  
In his conceit; nor can dissuasions turn him.  
I'th' night he thinks his bedfellow doth drive  
The Furies; cry, Take him away alive.  
He's to himself and all things else a slave,  
But suddenly he dropped down to his grave.  
All cried that saw him lying on the brim,  
Let Incubus ne'er enter into him!   

His Epitaph.  
THis man did live like a lascivious Ape,  
Spending his strength in sensual lust and pleasure;  
The Devil did assume a fellow's shape  
To humour him; and gives his lust full measure:  
The grave's his bawd, the devil was his whore;  
H'has now enough, that ne'er was cloyed before.    

SECT. 17. Of a North-countrey man's meeting a trull: and how they were drunk together: his complaint.  

WIthin the Northern parts, near Neptun's plains,  
Where Thetis used to feed her frisking trains:  
Thin Boreas with his breath, did charm the flood,  
Envied the dwellers there, and cooled their blood:  
The soil was barren too, the men grew poor,  
They wrought, and eat to live, but eat no more  
Than Nature craved: withal 'twas not so ill,  
Some filled themselves, some did their purses fill.  
But one among them, having store of gold,  
Resolved to ride a journey from the cold;  
And in the South, awhile he did abide,  
(He had a feeling in the case beside)  
And being there, his blood began to thaw,  
His lust arose, and sought against the law.  
He of his sins did make himself a sword,  
And judged the law, to be an empty word.   

He meets a whore, she smiled, to him she spoke;  
Then he replied, and thus his mind he broke.  
Kaind lovin mistress!  
Faith aies be tak-en we thee vary face,  
Give me thee hon, aies kee'st, o sick a grace  
Tha haste at eance ceame, let me clap mine arm  
About thee middle; there is much charm  
Geine from theene eyes: in't I con freelee ha  
Mine we'll of thee, an minit ist a da.  
Benison leeght on thee! Isles give thee wine,  
Sa mack I love tha: ceame, troth thee be'st mine.   

Away they went together, what they did  
'Cause 'twas a stranger, let that fault be hid.  
He having stayed till midnight, with that punk,  
Then out they reeled together, both being drunk,  
The watchmans find: but the cunning whore  
Gave them the slip; another watch before  
Perceived a running post, catcht her at last,  
Put her in Bridewell: there she's bolted fast.   

And for the countryman, his brains being sped;  
Would fain take up the channel for his bed.  
Sometimes he slips, and then he takes a fall;  
Then by and by, his head against the wall  
Receives a knock; he's with himself displeased,  
Although his stomach's full, his purse is eased.  
His feet draws out Indentures, as he goes;  
His body's like a coarse, his eyes, his nose,  
Vnmans his face; and all his parts are pressed  
By Maligo; now to proclaim him beast.  
His mouth lets in his shame, but le's out reason,  
His heart agreed to bring about this treason.  
Sometimes he thought himself at home, but when  
He felt it warm, his mind did change again.  
Then presently he thought, he with this whore  
Was drinking healths, as he had done before.  
He'd knock the stones, as if he'd raise'em up,  
And call the boy to bring a bigger cup.   

But coming to himself, his brains grew tame,  
His eyes being clearer then, to see his shame:  
Thus he began; (entreating them for pity)  
I is o stranger; not eance then this City  
Befeare this time, nor never weell-agene,  
Vnlessen woemin be meare true to mean.  
I wea is me! what mum I do to geine  
Me geud report? trow ye, a pittisse stain  
Haver teane me neame! in troth I is undone!  
Prey let me gang, an I away will run.  
Muck-hill ill betid tha jade, for she hau gi'en  
Me sike a welcam, as I feel me sin  
Yeating mine sol; O! we'll a near that I  
Did ken her face, or seen her pinker nigh!  
I wot neane harm when Is't did gang to teake  
A leetell drank; an when Is't could no speak;  
Her run away; whailst I is here beheend;  
Whick way hur's ganged, I ken not: hur's non friend:  
She stalne mine coin; me self dee teell now lee,  
Indeed lafoy, a deafed lass, hur seemed to be.  
O weal a da! ere sine I is from home,  
I hau been feinding 〈◊〉 ta be a meame!  
Good sirs discharge ma! Is't chee thang yo than:  
An won non near be cauten sike again.   

They let him go; if he should thaw thus long,  
He'd rot away; for whores and drink are strong,  
Being joined together. Drunkenness is found  
To hate the man; but yet it loves the ground.  
It steals in at the mouth, to drown the soul,  
Takes place of wit, and doth the brains control.  
It breeds disease, consumption in the purse,  
Bladders the face, the nose; and it doth nurse  
What e'er is ill. The stomach over charged  
Doth belch out filth, his words are more enlarged,  
Regards nor time, nor place, but all may find  
Him spewing up the secrets of his mind.  
It boyles a man to froth, (oh! hateful crime!)  
Brings shame, pain, death, and all before the time.  
All that are men, abhored! has he the day  
That drinks down men, to carry shame away?  
For carrying drink, this beast the praise doth crave,  
'Tis only that the Brewer's horse should have.    

SECT. 18. Of strange policies in a newfound Bawd.  

MOngst many Bawds, yet one there was of late,  
That had her Imps of any size, or rate;  
Her customers of all degrees and ranks  
Resorted thither; played their hellish pranks.  
If she could meet with any that was young,  
And handsome too, and had a nimble tongue,  
She'd play the Devil, trying all her skill,  
With promises to draw her to that will.  
Thus long she lived, through guile she many won  
To serve her ends, and so they were undone,   

But yet at last, she growing out of sorts,  
To feed the stream, and keep her Venus sports;  
For both the Bridewells had of them a share;  
She nor her pander then did never dare  
To own them there; the turning of the mills,  
And beating hemp was sore against their wills.  
But will they, nill they, they were forced unto it,  
Or take the lash, if they refuse to do it:  
And shameless Newgate got another part,  
They could not budge, which vexed her to the heart.  
There was no help, which makes her fret and chafe,  
Yet Newgate promised her, to keep them safe.   

The Hospitals had some to try their cure,  
Which had the pox, and there they must endure  
Sharp tortures, broyling, now a change they find;  
They broiled before, but in another kind:  
With medicines they search and pinch their guts,  
'Tis cutting torment! good enough for sluts.   

Then weatherbeaten Tyburn claims the rest,  
And now the hangman is become a guest,  
But cannot please them: so they quickly part;  
He takes his leave, and leaves them on the cart.  
Their faults so bad, the hangman scorns to cloak them,  
His pills are slips, yet being tough do choke them:  
Yet Gregory he's executor; all they have,  
Will only help'em to a highway grave.  
Now in this straight, the bawd to raise her store,  
Doth try her wits, and finds one project more;  
Goes to a carrier modestly attired,  
Inquires for servants, she would fain have hired  
Two at the least: there being none, than he  
Must bring her up some, promising a fee  
Of forty shillings; sor each one bespoken;  
'Twill set him up, or raise him being broken.  
A shrewd temptation! so he seeks about,  
Mistrusting nothing; when he finds some out,  
He brings them up, and has his money paid.   

She entertains them, thus they are betrayed  
With flattering words: and what they do desire,  
She'll promise them; and pay them larger hire  
Than they expect; new suits from top, to toe  
She freely gives them; she will have it so.  
They shall be brave, poor girls! they think it strange,  
And do rejoice at this their happy change,  
(As they conceive) not used to be so clothed,  
Their other garmentsare with them so loathed,  
They will not own them: then to lectures next,  
She brings them, and they must bring home the text,  
(She seems devout) that there they may be viewed,  
And that she may the better them delude  
With show of goodness: next, unto a play  
She will bring them (for there the fowls of prey  
Do much resort) they being often spied,  
The plot is laid, and now they must betrayed:  
If they will yield unto this cursed sin,  
And bring new custom; then she does begin  
To bless herself, that trading comes again,  
She reaps the fruit of her forecasting brain.  
But if they will not, after twice, or thrice  
Attempted to't; then this her last device  
Does take effect: she'll threaten them, and say  
I'll strip you bare, and turn you then away.  
What, was't for nothing that I made you fine?  
To keep you thus, 'tis for no case of mine.  
Go take your rags; those garments which I bought,  
Leave them; I will not give them you for nought.   

fain they would go, and yet as fain abide,  
They love good names, yet will not leave their pride;  
They would not have fine feathers thus to fall;  
To put on rags, that grieves them most of all.  
They seem to look when they should put them off,  
As coming from the hill near Paddington.  
The subtle moths, conspired with the rot  
To take possession: being long forgot;  
The ugly form, considered with the sinell  
They could not like, nor did it savour well.  
Now being neat, they think they shall be prized;  
Put on their trash, they shall be much despised.  
If they consent they shall enjoy the place,  
Or else they must go home with great disgrace:  
Sometimes again, they judge it no ways fit;  
Then blame themselves, having so little wit.   

In this distemper, than the Bawd steps in,  
And she will prove, this but a venial sin;  
Which brings in profit, pleasure, wealth, and case:  
I speak the truth, you may do what you please.   

First shows of good, mixed with apparent evil  
Draws them to yield; and now they serve the devil.  
Alas poor souls! their rising is their fall!  
They only breathe, but do not live at all.   

But yet ere long this Bawd is questioned for it,  
And former vileness: Neighbours do abhor it;  
And Newgate doth embrace her, as 'tis meet:  
She has preferment, riding in the street  
Herself alone: judge, is not this great state?  
(But all such honour women still do hate.)  
Her Coach had but two wheels, one horse did draw it:  
Her Coachman was a Carman, people saw it.  
'Twas open round, regarding not the weather;  
Nor was the top once over-laid with leather.  
The inside of it being never lined;  
'tad but one boot, and that was quite behind:  
'Twas of long standing, and so full of holes,  
'Twas ever after forced to carry coals.   

Her footmen many, only for that day,  
All volunteers, not one of them had pay.  
Both sides they run, in running, still they hollowed:  
The Marshal road before, the Beadles followed.  
She was saluted as she road along  
With kettle Music; and the basons rung.  
Her fame was spread, and she was often crowned  
With Carret-tops, and whatsoe'er the ground  
Did there afford: and 'twas at such a time  
When chamberpots agreed to purge her crime.   

Her journey ended, all hermen discharged;  
Her fine, her fees, before she be enlarged,  
Must all be paid: and then away she's banished,  
Down falls her trade, for all her imps are vanished.  
She'd plant again, though in another coast,  
But that disgrace and shame do haunt her ghost.  
She runs all bras; Muse, be thou content  
To leave her helpless in her banishment.    

SECT. 19 Of a Hackney Hestis; the trade she drove; and how she ended.  

A Common Strumpet (as I heard it told)  
Being impudent (for whores are ever bold)  
She tempted many with her flattering tongue;  
And with her eyes to death were many stung.  
she'd all the ways that might be had to gain  
Fresh customers: at last she did so stain  
The Town she dweltin, that a course was taken  
To drive her thence; she was of all forsaken:  
For she grew odious; time had blazed her name,  
Her lewd light carriage still did speak her shame.  
She hangs out colours; when her Imps came in,  
She fell again unto her wont sin.  
A public house she keeps; all men may be  
There entertained; more common now is she  
Than highway Trulls; though she be now remote,  
Vermin do smell, and then begin to dote  
Upon fire painted face: she rules the roast,  
And every Jack's corivall to mine Host.  
He can digest it, though his horns do grow.  
(A Tinker patched his face, and pieced his brow.)  
She wants nor money, pleasure, sport, nor ease,  
Thus trades a while, until the foul disease  
Doth seize upon her; then her tempting tongue  
Begins to falter, and her breath's so strong  
None can abide it; and her wanton eye  
Bewrays her shame; and both her jaws do cry,  
We are undone: for P: hath seized upon us  
With violence, to take our teeth quite from us.   

Pain follows pleasure! she can only crawl,  
She's loathed of many, but she's shunned of all.  
Her rascal crew forsake her, having spied it,  
Alas, poor Host! he only must abide it!  
In this distress she doth herself bemoan,  
What shall I do? my friends are from me gone!  
And I am left to end my days in grief!  
No means I have to bring me in relief!  
To serve my lust, how did I daily strive?  
And for reward, now I must rot alive!  
My shame is noised everywhere about,  
I'm like a monster; boys do hiss me our!  
The Surgeon must be paid; but where's the coin?  
Alas I am weary of this life of mine!  
All that have reason, do abhor my sight;  
Darkness attends me; for I loathed the light!   

Me thinks the beasts cry, as they daily feed,  
(As I go by) There goes a beast indeed!  
The fowls all day do at my window call,  
And chatter curses, wishing for my fall.  
I cannot look towards Heaven, but despair,  
Nor but with horror wave the gentle air:  
Nor without dread, once tread upon the ground,  
Or any way, but hell besets me round.   

In this mad fit, she does at last conclude,  
(See how the Devil does poor Imps delude!  
First to presume; that acted, to despair;  
The storm is gathering, while the weather's fair)  
To end her life, and fall by her own hand;  
She has no power, Satan to withstand.  
She'd hang herself, but that she wants a place:  
(But I dare say, that'tis for want of grace,  
That she attempts it) For she has a halter,  
The beame's too high, and so her mind does alter.  
At last a beam she finds that's very low,  
The halter's laid, but where she does not know,  
So she's dismissed: but having place and rope  
Another time, O! now she is in hope  
To do the deed: but being then prevented,  
Prolonged her life: yet being discontented,  
She plots a fresh; and finds another way,  
How she untroubled may herself destroy.   

A well was near her, which was very deep;  
(Though she was rotten) she did crawl, or creep  
Unto this well; and headlong threw herself;  
Her life there ended; so this noisome elf  
Was taken up, as cold as any stone,  
She being breathless: for her soul was gone.  
Whether, God knows: I will not sentence pass;  
I fear the worst: I show you how it was.  
A dreadful spectacle! this horrid sight  
Filled the beholders with amazement, fright.  
Her clothes all being long (not long in getting)  
Are now too short, for they are shrunk i'th' wetting:  
Her countenance was black, her tongue hung out;  
Her eyes wide open, but she's blind, no doubt.   

Fool, why didst thou against thy life rebel?  
Didst think to ease thyself? didst think that hell  
Was but a fable? grief I doubt begins!  
Self murder's's judged next to the worst of sins.  
Didst think that water would so cool thy sore,  
To case thy pain? lust was assuaged before.  
Did Satan press thee? or didst thou appear  
Proffering thyself to him, as volunteere?  
Long in a journey didst thou scorn to dwell,  
That thou didst seek a nearer way to hell?  
Or didst thou think, that by thyself alone,  
Thou'dst have thy hell, or else thou wouldst have none?  
Didst think thy shame, & pain would then have ended,  
Or else with hellhounds think to be befriended?   

Though like a beast thou liv'dst, thou didst undo  
Thyself; for why? thou canst not die so too.  
Worse than a beast thou art, and hadst: less wit;  
theyare taught by Nature to avoid a pit.  
Thou heardst that hell was in a place below;  
Didst go to see, because thou didst not know  
That was a truth? or whether it was deep?  
Or what those vermin are, that there do creep?  
The Well was deep, but yet it had a ground;  
And hateful creepers were, where thou wast drowned.  
Poor fool! alas! didst not believe, nor fear  
In hell was fire, but no water there?  
'Tis bottomless; it had been best for thee  
To have believed it, not to go and see:  
But this I think, thou couldst not judge but hell  
Was very large; or larger than the Well:  
Sure thou didst think, 'twas but the way into it.  
Yet thou wast worse than mad when thou didst do it.  
These silly creepers that have here abode,  
The Frogs, the Lizard, or the loathsome Toad,  
Are not so odious: (nor their shrieks, nor cries  
Like them in hell:) nor of so large a size.   

We'll hasten now to bring her to her grave:  
The Crowner calls a jury; found they have  
She only guilty of this fact committed,  
And suffered for't: yet she's of no man pitied.  
They parley, and do condemn her; for this cause  
A Crossway grave, according to the laws,  
Is made for her; and thither she is brought  
And tumbled in, just like a thing of naught.  
Being covered, a stake is driven in  
Quite through her Corpse, to show, her heinous sin.  
Her friends were shamed (if she had any left)  
She through her vildness was of all bereft)  
None durst be seen, all diu so much abhor her:  
For not one grieved, no show of mourning for her.  
All mouths are open still, to blaze her shame,  
But ears disdain to entertain her name.  
The fowls do cry, and will not be at rest,  
For being disappointed of their feast.  
The worms had had the best on't when she sunk,  
But could not once come near her 'cause she stunk.  
Muse leave her there still as a way-marke curse,  
And wish all better, but none ever worse.   

But where's mine Host so long? he's gone astray,  
Or else to grass, to cast his horns away.  
But does he not go rogueing up and down,  
And leave his children now to charge the town?  
Or is he so in debt, that even the light  
Is hateful to him, so plays least in sight?  
Or has he not some jailor to attend him?  
Or has he not the pox that soon will end him?  
I'll send no hue and cry; 'tis not my task:  
After this time I'll never for him ask.   

Her Epitaph.  
HEre lies a whore that did exceed in evil;  
She common was, and had the pox 'twas known:  
She'd more, and more acquaintance with the devil:  
At last she was by her own hand o'erthrown.  
Let passers by take notice of this stake,  
That they may fear, and warning by her take.    

SECT. 20. Of a Child borne full of the pox: with a Satire playing his part upon the Father.  

A Female infant newly being come  
Into the world; and living from the womb;  
Death soon did follow: while she lived, the fame  
Did every minute speak the father's shame;  
She as an Emblem and a type of death  
Did show herself, when she received breath.  
She was enclosed with the fowl disease;  
Though little time she lived, she had less ease,  
For why? she had extremity of pain,  
Till she returned unto the dust again.  
Sh'was coffined up, with scurf and no y some sores,  
Her father brought it from his rotten whores  
Unto her mother; so it was conveyed  
To her; her mother had been else destroyed:  
Yet both undone; and yet this rascal vile  
Being often shent, he'd jeer, and laugh, or smile,  
Her grief was much increased, being poor,  
Most that he got, he spent upon some whore;  
Or on the Surgeon, being often cured;  
But no whit better; what he then endured,  
you'd think might change his mind; but he grew worse,  
Nor is he moved with God's eternal curse.  
He runs in debt, and scores up what he may,  
'Tis known full well he doth not use to pay.  
I know he borrowed much his lusts to fit,  
Some wished him whipped; he hath not paid them yet;  
Nor never will; which grieves them most of all:  
He's out of credit now; nor ever shall  
Grow more in debt, because no man will lend him;  
Speak harsh, he's mad; or fair, it will not mend him.  
He must be dieted at th' fall and spring;  
He'll no strong drink, nor wine, and thus he'll sing  
A month together; while the Surgeon's by,  
He'll seem to grieve; being gone, then presently,  
He is the same; no orders will he keep,  
But drink, and drab, while civil men do sleep.  
If money last, he will not look towards home,  
Had they but food, they'd rather have his room  
Than's company: he'll kick his wife about,  
And pawn his goods; he has not much I doubt.   

In this distress, if she doth seek relief,  
Amongst her friends, if they but ease her grief,  
This monster's wild, spits venom, threats, he'll say,  
See if they dare to keep his wife away:  
If that prevails not, then he'll swear, and lie,  
He loves her so, that he for her shall die,  
If she returns not home. Thus will he seek,  
Till he attains: she being mild and meek,  
Conceives the best; he promising a change,  
Goes home again; believe it, 'tis not strange,  
He's changed indeed: but 'tis from bad to worse;  
She's almost starved, yet he hath no remorse.  
Makes he much of her, as he promised? no,  
He sells her clothes, then hang her, let her go.   

He never goes to Church, but hates all such  
That would persuade him to't, thinks all too much  
That any do for heaven: calls them asses,  
Especially amongst his bawdy lasses.  
He'll domineer, when they upon him sawn.  
I'll judge the best, his clothes are all at pawn,  
Or else he's loath to fright folk with his look,  
Or else because the Broker has his book:  
Or is he in some Cellar under ground?  
And drinking, till he thinks the world goes round?  
He hangs on others, they must pay his score,  
He has no coin, his host will trust no more.   

As for the woman, how to set her free,  
Alas! I know not, except time agree  
To end her life: some Hospital may take him  
To try their skill, and as a pattern make him.  
No other way can I conceive to do it,  
Unless the Sessions do agree unto it;  
That he may grieve his wife and friends no more,  
To have him hanged, though he was burnt before:  
Of all, the hangman than would prove his friend,  
He'd never leave him, till he saw his end.  
But after all his friendship, he'd be mad,  
When once he finds his clothes are all so bad.  
Muse, leave this goat, for he defiles thy pen;  
Rank him with beasts, but never more with men.   

But this poor infant I have left too long,  
We'd parley a little: couldst thou use thy tongue,  
Thou'dst teach my pen, to write with blood or tears,  
Or make it silent; and beget strange fears  
In those that hear thee, and as strange to see;  
T'ould move a stone, to wail thy misery.  
Not like a child, thou like a monster rather!   

Oh, blame not me! but blame my wretched father!  
But quit my mother, for she's guiltless known,  
Her comfort here's like mine, quite overthrown.  
She was deceived, my father's flattering tongue  
Did so ensnare her (when she was but young)  
Though 'twas but nonsense, she could not perceive it;  
What ere he spoke, she'd willingly receive it:  
Her friends being simple, matched her to her sorrow,  
To one day's mirth, which ended on the morrow.  
By love she tried to draw, and turn his heart  
From ill, but he still played the devil's part.  
In sorrow she conceived, and brought forth me,  
An object of disdain, that all may see,  
I am a wonder, for my father's sake,  
A sign of great displeasure: warning take  
All you that see me, or do hear my story,  
Amend your lives in time; give God the glory.  
All filthy courses see you always hate;  
‛ When Ruin knocks, Repentance comes too late,  
Then you must bear the evils that you do,  
And your posterity will curse you too.  
They'll suffer for your sins; as you may see,  
My father's sins, are now revenged on me.  
My suffring here, for I shall find redress.  
And be redeemed out of this deep distress.  
God's just and righteous, as he still hath been;  
I shall not always bear my father's sin.  
My time is short, how soon my race is run!  
I must away, before I see the Sun.  
I now salute the world, and bid adieu;  
'Tis only vain; leave it ere long must you.  
I for your sakes was sent; I had my breath  
To entertain my friend. Come, gentle death.   

The Epitaph.  
HEre lies an Infant, while she lived in pain,  
Did (in a kind) bewail her fatal birth!  
She was an Emblem of her father's stain,  
Till she returned to her mother, Earth.  
The sight of her might quell all lust and pride.  
Her presence gave us marning; so she died.    

SECT. 20. How a subtle Quean feigned herself to be with child by a man of quality; of her lying in, and how the plot was found out.  

WAlking alone; about the evening tide,  
I heard a voice: turning about, I spied  
Two walking hand in hand; and as they went,  
They whisp'red out their shame; 'twas their intent  
To sin in secret. First, the man did woo,  
And soon the female gave consent unto  
What he desired: a place than they descried,  
Which they did think would all their folly hide.   

But what is hid from that allseeing eye,  
That's done in hell, or on the earth? the sky  
Is fixed full of eyes to find out sin,  
And every creature must give verdict in,  
Against the sinful world: but all this while,  
Those witless Imps are striving to be guile  
Their souls of peace; and having had their ends,  
They part for that time, (seeming loving friends.)  
But pointed when, and where to meet again:   

He breaking promise (for it seems his brain  
Grew addle after this) she sent to know  
Where all this time he did himself bestow,  
Desiring him to visit her; for she  
Must show to him her hapless misery.  
He told his name, his place, that he was rich,  
Unto this whore: and now her finger's itch  
To handle some of's gold: she rubs her neyes,  
Hangs down her head, and blubbers out, and cries,  
She's half undone; her belly now doth swell,  
For she's with child by him: she loves him well,  
And would not have him shamed; give her relief,  
She'd free him on't, and still conceal her grief.  
Against her lying in, he must provide  
A nurse, and linen; divers things beside  
Which she must have; then, had you heard him curse  
This whore, his fate, their meeting ('cause his purse  
Grew empty by this means) you would have thought  
The Devil spoke by him, what's worse than nought.   

He tries with care, and cost, to hide his sin:  
For now the time is come, and she lies in,  
So neat, and sine; he goes to see her then,  
And to supply her wants; and goes again,  
And finds her weak: the child i'th' cradle by,  
The bawdy Nurse was rocking: presently  
She takes it up; oh, here's th'own father's child;  
Your eyes, your nose, your picture is not spoiled  
In joining up; while this babe doth survive,  
He'll keep your image, and your name alive:  
D'ye see your forehead, eyebrows, double chin,  
Your little mouth? just as your lips are thin,  
So are the child's: his fingers long and small;  
He's quiet too; that suits you best of all.   

This gives him no content, away he flings,  
And leaves his image; but the Nurse she fing  
A Lullaby; the woman that lies in,  
Is raised with gold, to strike the merry pin.   

He meets a man whom he well knew before,  
Reveals the passages 'twixt him and's whore:  
And how much goldsh'had had, and os the shame  
That he did fear would light upon his name.   

His friend (if so you call him) heard the case,  
Took his fit time, and went unto that place,  
Pretending shameful mirth; but she seemed ill,  
And would not once submit unto his will;  
Being subtle in her trade, she told him how  
The case did stand: he must not touch her now.   

Away goes he, acquaints a Magistrate,  
How such a man was made unfortunate,  
By dealing with a whore: he brings him to him,  
Who promised them much kindness he would do him,  
To set him free: unto the house they went,  
Where he had been, and had his money spent.  
They coming in, the Trull seemed very weak;  
The Nurse being rocking, she began to speak,  
But fear restrained her: for the man, they knew,  
Did use to give such birds of night their due.  
He taking up the child (but he mistook)  
Was quite agreed it had the father's look;  
I am persuaded in this heart of mine,  
Who ever sees this babe, may sweare'tis thine.   

With violence this child began to cry;  
A woman chatged with fury, suddenly  
Rushed in upon'em, What d'ye mean to do?  
Borrowing my child, pray do not murdered too!  
I will not trust you (Bawds and Whores are vild)  
You do not care how you abuse my child.   

By this the plot was found; the Whore, the Nurse  
Devised a lying in to purge his purse.  
The jade from her preferment had a fall,  
She's sent-abroad, and yet not churched at all.  
The Nurse must go before the month be out,  
To old Bridewell, to turn the mill about.  
(Her gossiping is spoiled) there she must stay,  
To try her strength a twelvemonth and a day.   

The other Imp to new Bridewell is had,  
To knock the hemp: which work she counts as bad  
As Purgatory: now she cheats no men:  
A sudden change! there she lies in again.   

As for the man, I'd place him with this whore,  
But he has promised to do so no more.   

Thou little infant! did they bring thee in  
To be a patron to a newborn sin?  
But I conceived (when I went further in)  
It was to draw the tawny from her skin:  
And make the wrinkles smooth, and colour fresh  
Her corpse decayed; which was like parboiled flesh.  
She's pickled up; her upper parts do show  
As clad in mourning: but she's bare below.  
This sight compared with the unsavoury stench,  
The lust of any Incubus might quench.  
Gentility with this is all her pride,  
She envies nature, 'cause she hath denied  
Her comeliness; and now she strives to be  
A pattern of the world's deformity.  
Dame Nature knew her once; but as she's now,  
She scorns to own her, nor will she allow  
Her any praise: sh'has brought a new fowl in  
Into the world; and she's as foul within.   

She lying thus in pickle, all the room  
Did seem to be allotted for her tomb:  
Me thought it had a savour of the slime;  
An earthy show! and stunk before its time.  
If't had been thus, the worms being weak and blind,  
Had been constrained to enter her behind:  
Or else below; but they would never rest,  
Till they had sucked the plasters from her breast.  
This sight would fright them, if they could but see't;  
(To suit the rest) had she but cloven feet,  
They durst not touch her: feign I'd see her rise,  
Make a sack-posser, let her wash her neyes,  
And pull the parches off; and rinse her skin:  
Then let me see if any blood's within;  
Set her the glass, that she may dress her head,  
Ask whe're she'll please to paint, or white, or red;  
See how she sets her face, and how she'll change,  
Now she'll be modest, and extremely strange,  
Then she'll be merry; by and by she'll grieve,  
Then bridle up her head; you'll not believe,  
How she will turn her postures, and her shape;  
When all is done, she's but bare Nature's Ape.  
This colour is too red, and that's too white;  
Or if it lies too thick, 'twill shame her quite.  
But being finely tempered, than 'twill do;  
Now if her tail were seen, she'd paint that too;  
One lock of hair lies wrong: she'd crisp again,  
But that will melt the colour from the grain.   

She's ready for to day had she but prayed,  
But now it is too late, the cloth is laid;  
And guests are come to accommodate this sinner,  
With wanton jests and tales, whilst she's at dinner.   

When dinner's done, they'll pass the time away  
In gaming, or with chat, until the play  
Is ready to begin; and there her coat,  
And painted face, do make her one of note.  
she'll praise a lovesick fancy, but she'll vex,  
If any word, or act, do touch her sex;  
She's powdered sweetly, which may gain delight;  
But coming home, she stinks again at night:  
Her face is spoiled: her dress are laid by;  
She's coffined up again. My Muse and I,  
With joint consent, did then her absence crave:  
And left her as a restless living grave.    

SECT. 22. How an old Bawd lay in for a young Whore: they are found and punished.  

A Private Bawd, that used to entertain  
A subtle quean, or two; finding the gain,  
She did increase her number: and did learn  
How every one might come to take her turn.  
She kept a hothouse (which did bring her gold)  
Under pretence; but 'twas too hot to hold.  
One of her creatures being proved with child,  
Having no husband; (sin had so beguiled  
This simple slut) and now to hide her shame,  
The Bawd must seem with child: and who can blame  
Her for't? her husband's very well content  
To cover it, all danger to prevent.  
Being very big with clouts, she does begin  
To fit herself against her lying in:  
Her reck'ning's out; her groaning's herd by some,  
But ere the Midwife and the neighbours come,  
The child is borne; some take distaste and cavil,  
And some do wonder at her easy travel!  
She seems exceeding weak, and very sick;  
The Panders fain to run and buy a Chick,  
To pull't alive, than boy le it to a jelly;  
The Nurse approves it good to ease her belly.   

Some do mistrust: this the discourse they hold,  
Admiring that a woman grown so old  
Should have so sweet a babe; but having past  
The danger of her month, she's churched at last.  
The whore that bore the child, is free from fear,  
(But not from danger, though the coast seems clear)  
Unto the Bawd she does herself engage,  
And goes by Bridewell boldly; and the cage  
Affrights her not; but see, the walls ere long,  
(Or something else) begins to find a tongue,  
And does bewray the plot: and how they swerved;  
And they were punished, as they all deserved.   

Was't not enough to sin, thou strumpet vild,  
By prostitut on? and to have a child  
Unlawfully be got? but thou must make  
Another stranger sin? and to forsake  
The infant when 'twas borne? father nor mother  
It should have known; but time would never smother  
Such monstrous crimes. Poor infant! thou art come  
Into the world, to be disgraced by some,  
And pitied of the rest! for thou wast brought  
Unlooked for hither, by a thing of nought.  
Take warning by thy mother; do not sell  
Thy soul away, for that which springs from hell.   

Thou hateful Pander! how couldst thou abide  
To own this child as thine? how couldst thou hide  
This matchless plot? 'tis like thy fee was more  
For this, than ten times keeping of the door.  
Or did they gull thee, making thee believe  
It was thine own? my pen should then reprieve  
Thee from the crime. But thou art weak and cold,  
So is thy Bawd, grown impotent and old;  
Or didst thou do't to keep thyself from trouble?  
How couldst thou think, but this would make it double?  
Or didst thou take a pride to be a father?  
That ne'er wast one before? but I guess rather  
Some gallant got it, and his mortgaged state  
Is bound to keep thee at a higher rate.   

Come near, thou bawdy hag; thy wrinkled face  
With tawny surrowes, will thy cause disgrace.  
Thou hast no wit save only for such tricks,  
I think thy age hath outrun sixty six.  
Thy hollow eyes have almost lost their sight,  
Thou hast no colour, but thy head is white.  
Who gave thy baby suck? once thou hadst store,  
But 'twas at lest full forty years before.  
Or if some Incubus had lain with thee,  
How could thy fruit less than a monster be?  
Those that did see thy shape, thy lying in,  
Did think that elves and goblins did begin  
To nurse their changelings there; when thou didst speak  
They thought the furies did their gorges break.  
Some thought a witch big with a little devil  
Had come to leave it here, because in evil  
It should be more expert: or else in hell  
(Being hot and dark) she could not nurse it well.   

Some thought that (snake-like) thou'dst turn young again,  
And others thought thou'dst be a shame to men.  
Their fancies differed, as their minds were pressed;  
Some feared the worst, and others hoped the best.  
Thou desperate wretch! how dared thou go to meet  
Him that doth know the waver of thy feet?  
Or come within his house? dost think thy vow  
Is prized of him who knows thou mockest him now?  
Dost come to give him praise in people's sight  
For safe deliverance? lasting pain's thy right.  
Dost think he doth not know thee? or dost think,  
Although he knows thee, at this fault he'll wink?  
He's ne'er deceived; thou'lt find thy conscience will  
join with the judge, thy soul with guilt to fill.  
thou'rt ever lost, except thou dost repent;  
I'll leave thee now to corporal punishment.    

SECT. 23. Of a strumpet accusing others, and afterwards herself: her protestations.  

WHen wealthy summer did decline in strength,  
The golden days diminished much in length,  
The waking time which they from night did take,  
Being urged upon't, they restitution make,  
To reconcile the odds (but not the crime)  
Both day and night must share alike in time:  
But light found wary friends to plead for day,  
Though she be cast, sh'has a month's time to pay.   

Men did rejoice because the teeming earth  
Was safe delivered of a fruitful birth:  
But she looked pale upon't; for all her store  
Was strained upon, to pay a twelve months' score.  
This dealing vexed her, fain she would have chid,  
But men had bills, and bands for what they did,  
And judgement passed upon'em; most unkind!  
The birds and beasts gleaned what they left behind.  
The watery treasure opened wide its mouth,  
And grants a licence to the weeping fourth,  
For bottling up of tears: the clouds did hold  
Their swarthy colour, to invite the cold.  
The trees grew naked, whistling winds did call  
The leaves away. The earth deprived of all  
Her newborn treasure, makes a league with men,  
For one grain she receives, to pay'em ten  
Within the year: she doth receive the seed  
As earnest ties, to pay as they agreed.   

(The fool thought all was buried in a tomb,  
Some lived in hope) and then she closed her womb.  
But keeping Sentry at that time, I spied  
A walking clod of earth; and when ●tri'd  
My skill, to know what creature this might be,  
I found she loved the Art of Bawdry.  
She being questioned, did with fury prate,  
Till she was locked within the wooden grate.  
But being freed again, she did unfold  
The names of those, who residence did hold  
At such a place; the nature of their meeting,  
Th' occasions on't, their feasting, and their greeting.  
What rendezvous they kept; what domineering,  
What time they spent in drinking, whoring, swearing;  
How Ladylike one of the queans lay in;  
If any ask, she must not be within;  
She's at her Countryhouse to take the air,  
To purge her blood, and make her seem more saire.  
Her Servingman will answer at the door,  
(He's but a dunghill Pimp, t'attend this whore)  
That he is left to manage her estate,  
In black and white; this cancelled Ass will prate.   

Another is a Maid, new come to town  
To buy a gorger, and a Tabby gown,  
And sell a jewel: she goes all in Plush:  
She's newly entered, and she'll quickly blush.  
She keeps her chamber, lying backward still;  
She now takes physic, and she's very ill.   

Another, if you knock, will be afraid,  
And she (forsooth) goes for her Chambermaid;  
She'll wring her hands, and call the Gods above  
To right her cause; she hath been crossed in love.   

The four's a daintiewidow, rich, and young,  
Her husband died at sea, and she stays long  
To gather in her debts: she's wary, stayed,  
And she's resolved to live without a maid.  
A Merchant loves her well, and he doth watch  
To take her in the mind to strike the match.   

All those are common: though they do pretend  
This, and the other thing: mark but the end,  
You'll find this true, if you have common sense;  
Call up the Constable, and fetch'em thence.  
The Master's Pander, and the Mistress Bawd;  
Take them to Newgate, there they will be awed.   

When she had spoke, I followed in the round;  
The place was searched, the persons all were found  
As she descried; the first began to frown  
When th' Bridewell Matron came to change her gown.  
She clad in Plush grew mild, and changed her hue.  
She was in black, to morrow she's in blue:  
The lovesick maid is from her sweetheart barred,  
She'd love the Beadle, but he whips too hard.  
The widow learns good huswifrie, she knocks  
The hemp; and yet she's angry with the blocks.  
The Merchant leaves her; is't not very ill?  
Nor can she stir to prove her husbands will.  
The Bawd must ride, the Panders in disgrace,  
Yet he's in hope to get the Hangman's place.   

But afterwards this tell-tale whore confessed  
Her shameful plots; thus she herself expressed:   

'Tis true, I am a whore, who knows not that?  
I love a private corner, like a bat.  
I cut a purse sometimes, and take my share  
When others do't; and drink away all care.  
But yet I scorn to rob the poor, and when  
I do't unknown, I pay'em all again.  
Those that can spare it, when they come to me,  
(If in our love we can but once agree)  
I often pillage them: when they grow bold,  
I watch my time to seize upon their gold.  
I am no market whore, like those that say  
Before they truck, sir, what shall be my pay?  
Such mercenary trulls, that will not trade  
With any man, until the match be made,  
I ever hated: it shall ne'er be fed  
(By any blade) that I am basely bred.  
I'll be gentile: with any hidebound elf,  
I have away how to relieve myself.  
Could I wear silk, with gold and silver lace,  
A beaver of this price, which gives a grace  
To all the rest, a gorget of fine lawn,  
Edged round with pearl, if I did never pawn  
A woodcocks golden feathers? take a prey  
When it lies open, ready in my way?  
Should I refuse such booties? is it reason?  
Farewell, 'tis late, we'll find a fitter season  
To drink and laugh: the Constable is true,  
The Beadle's right; well, once again, adieu.   

See here the vileness of this black-breathed spirit,  
Who thinks her damned sin bespeaks a merit:  
'Tis true, it merits hell: I fear she'll creep  
Quite from her grave into th'infernal deep.  
What's bad in others, is to her a grace,  
It may be she doth think to have a place  
Of eminence in hell; pray has there been  
At any time a nobleness in sin?  
She did reveal the meetings of a crew  
That leigers were for hell, and lay perdue  
To stay the passers by: she thought her trading  
Might mend upon't, which by their means was fading,  
I hope that sin is of the falling hand,  
When hell's divided, long it cannot stand.  
Ah! how's this world bewitched! how doth it play  
With serpents, crocodiles which will destroy  
Their own familiars! how doth it spend  
Its marrow, strength, and time! rush to an end  
Which brings in endless woe! oh that my pen  
Might strip those beasts! the rest may live like men.    

SECT. 24. Of a team of hackney Jades, that use to go coupled in the night along the street.  

TO usher in the black and silent night  
('Tis often seen) six beasts with collars white,  
With measured pace, do walk along the street,  
Keeping a distance, mincing with their feet:  
Like pampered mares they prance, spreading their flanks;  
Being double-eyed, they keep both file and ranks.  
How stately every one would act her part,  
If they might draw together in a cart!  
Sometimes demure, and sometimes swell, and foam  
Like oxen; but they leave their horns at home,  
The two before wear beavers, gowns of silk,  
Rich diamond-rings, their hands as white as milk;  
Their cheeks new playstered of a Crimson hue,  
The ground well sized, but that their eyes were blue.  
No shark durst tempt'em; for it cannot be  
That they should yield without a lawyers fee.   

The second two are full two sizes lower,  
They'll take five shillings; if you'll give them four,  
They'll do for once: the villain will rejoice  
That he can have'em both, or take his choice:  
Their gowns are Tammy, Grogren, and their rings  
Are set with Bristom stones, or some such things.  
Their hats are Demicastors, and theyare feign  
Touse the courser paint, but's laid in grain.   

The last are Wastecoters, they want the trick  
To temperdirt, nor can they make it stick;  
Or if it do, being greasy, soon 'twill melt,  
Their linen's soul, each of them wears a felt.  
They wear Saint Martin's stones set well in brass,  
They shine i'th'night, and they alike will pass.  
They're eighteen pence a piece; they will abuse  
You cheap enough; there's not a— to choose.  
What is their fee, they will not be denied,  
You must be sure to pay the shot beside.  
If some of them be taken, the rest not had,  
(The term being done) the night proving but bad,  
They know each others haunt, where they will meet  
To taste your bounty: (watchmen search the street)  
Take on of them, thou'lt take a six fold curse;  
Then take thou heed, or they will take thy purse.  
This is the way to make a man derided;  
By this we know, hell is not yet divided.    

SECT. 25. An enquiry, after a young man. that was led away with a whore from his master.  

A Young man lately chanced to be in place,  
Where was a Trull, who had a brazen face;  
Her words she spoke by gross, her tongue was tiped  
With shameless boldness: for 'twas newly dipped  
In divers liquors; but she did protest  
The Wine she drank was reached; the Ale was best.  
Her carriage with her words did so agree  
You'd think that hell had none so bad as she.   

This pretty beast found out a silly Ass,  
They both agreed to go abroad to grass:  
His wit lay in his tongue; all that he had;  
But now the Ale had robbed him; drunk, and mad,  
He now begins to dally, with this whore,  
Through her allurements (so have many more  
Been taken by her) and his blood grows warm;  
What ere he did, he thought it was no harm.  
She having brought him to her cursed bent;  
Begins to search what coin he had; what spent:  
judge you his case, for she was much in fear  
'Twas low; but then an Angel did appear,  
Which cheered her heart: the reckoning being paid;  
She drawed him thence, time must not be delayed,  
If place be silent: gone they are together;  
(Think what's their end) but who can tell me whither?  
fain would I find them, grant me then your aid,  
And get a Warrant; search, for they are strayed  
Into some corner: if we find them, so;  
But if we cannot, hang 'em, let them go.   

How you may know them, I will now describe,  
But if you find them, do not take a bribe,  
Nor let them go; but show the Man the Devil;  
As for the whore, let Bride well prove this evil.   

He's tallow-faced, his eyes are black, and narrow,  
His chaps are thin, he's mouthed much like a sparrow,  
With beetle brows, his brain with humour swims,  
Eared like an Ass, his hat hath narrow brims,  
He's tall and slender, that me thinks might grace him,  
But what is said before doth still outface him.  
His clothes are very poor, his cloak's the best,  
A sad brown colour; being once but dressed.  
I doubt she will persuade him (else she'll rail)  
To put it for its faults in Brokers jyale.   

And for the jade, mark, how you may descry her;  
By my description I would not belly her.  
Her face is swarthy, with a hawks-bill nose,  
And goggle-eyes: how such a pair as those  
Would fright one in the night! her looks so rude  
Would make you wonder, if you are endued  
With common sense; her mouth o'th' largest size,  
Stands always open, or with lust, or lies.  
Her head is almost bald, her teeth are thin:  
She, like a changeling, slobbers down her chin;  
Her hands are brawny, and her fingers are  
Shrunk up for length, yet swelled with spite, or care:  
Her body's gross, her legs do keep asunder,  
Her feet are sure, yet being so kept under,  
They hue each other; but her legs being big,  
Will beare'em out in't, she cares not a fig;  
Her knees are reconciled, yet by relation,  
They'll part asunder on a light occasion:  
Her' apparel is as mean, as mean may be;  
Her gown is threadbare, and as light as she.  
Her gorgets dirty and I heard some grumbled,  
She wears no ruff, for fear it should be tumbled.  
Her Felt is out of fashion; yet 'twill last her  
Till trading mend; and then she'll have a Caster.   

These marks will help you, if you do but mind them;  
I'll tell you where too, you are like to find them.   

First, search the renters; place, and persons mark,  
If there you miss, then go to Mutton park:  
For that's a noted place; but yet, I fear  
The Bawd being lofty, has no poor punks there.  
Search narrowly; blind Alehouses may be  
A cover-slut; let not the horns go free.  
Then go to Bloomsbury, and common places  
Where varlets dwell, and vermin hide their faces.  
From thence to Islington, and seek about  
In Alehouses, and Taverns; for a rout  
Of vassals there do meet: if that be vain,  
And having raised the spirits of the brain,  
Come back to Turneboll-street; but have a care,  
Be not to bold; for why? such creatures are,  
Both tempting, and infectious; I have seen them,  
And three in all had but one nose between them.   

Then by the way that is about the Playhouse,  
Search carefully, for I mistrust the day-house;  
If still you misse'em, go to Shoreditch then,  
For that's a place, where whores have beggared men:  
If there you find them not, I'll say 'tis strange,  
Yet be not out of heart, for Pickt-hatch Grange  
Is the most likeliest place: For this I know;  
They're either there, or gone to rotten Row.   

Enquiry being made, they're found at last;  
The common stock was small; they spent too fast.  
The Angel was cashiered, nor can they rest:  
For both their purses, were not penny-blest,  
Yet rest they did; but how! their bones were stayed;  
Ere they are freed, the reckoning must be paid.  
Now farewell cloak, it's like to go in trouble;  
The sweet is past, the sower will be double!  
The whore will car'it; quickly he is drawn  
To quit himself, to put his cloak to pawn.  
Well, gone it is: he sends it by this whore,  
He takes no leave, but never sees it more.  
He's pawned the while, his word they will not take,  
Nor can I blame them; now his heart doth ache:  
Yet not recovered; like a beast he sits:  
This whore, and drink, have robbed him of his wits.  
This is thy doom, poor fool, thou must abide it!  
Thy shame breaks out, thou hast no cloak to hide it.   

Muse, stay a while, for yonder comes the lade,  
And thou shalt know, what markets she hath made,  
She being come, begins to tell her tale;  
What pains she took, to put the cloak to sale:  
She should have pawned it, for a noble price,  
But she hath sold it, for a noble thrice.  
One part she gave to him; the other two  
She kept herself: thus queans do use to do:  
One of the parts, she reckons for her pains;  
The other part, she counted for her gains:   

This long-lane Broker, well deserves a check,  
He judgement gives, and hangs it by the neck:  
Its master thought, it should but bear's expenses,  
'Tis feign to suffer, for his foul offences!  
Wast known by any? has it ever been  
That cloaks were punished, for their Master's sin?  
This tyrant shows some favour to the Cape,  
'Twas proved, that was not guilty of the Rape:  
It had revealed them, had it not been blind,  
And shamed them too, but that it hung behind.   

Then he perceiving how the markets went;  
His cloak being gone, and all his money spent,  
And he himself is brought to such disgrace,  
He'll be but hist at, when he shows his face.  
Unto the whore, thus he his mind did utter,  
(Shame moved his tongue, he could but only mutter.)   

Thou dunghill jade! thou hast undone me quite:  
The time's accursed, that I came in thy sight!  
Thou tempting witch, thou rotten hag, thou monster!  
How vile thou art, the World can never construe;  
'Twas thou, 'twas thou, didst draw me unto sin,  
Thou jear'st me now, what pickle am I in?  
Time, where's thy scythe? oh! that my glass were run!  
I had been blest, had I not seen the Sun!  
With that he stopped, grief had his spirits sunk,  
He could not speak; then thus begins the Punk:   

Thou prating fool! I took thee for an Ass,  
Thou art a Rascal; like a coxcomb pass.  
Thou foul-mouthed villain, what, dost rail at me?  
Go hang thyself, and ease thy misery.  
Thou simple drone! dost think to lick the honey  
In Forma pauperis? hast thou spent thy money?  
And art thou vexed? who ist can give thee help?  
Thou art too young; alas, poor sucking whelp!  
Hast lost thy cloak? maintained how should I be  
Or such as I, but by such fools as thee?  
Dost cry! hold up thy head: and let me kiss thee,  
Kiss somewhere else, if I do chance to miss thee.  
Go learn more wit; if thou so canst, and then  
Get money too't, and come to me again.  
Until that time, I will thy absence crave,  
This is no jeer; and so adieu poor slave!   

He sighs, and weeps, nor can he think of rest:  
What dreadful torment doth possess his breast:  
He'd fain be gone, and yet as fain would stay,  
But that his cash is spent, he must away:  
But whether knows he not, 'tis his intent  
Home to return; yet fearing to be shent,  
His mind doth change, he'd go then to his kindred,  
But he shall shame them; so, his journey's hindered.  
If he does walk by day, his friends will spy him;  
Or if by night, the watchmen will descry him:  
He giving no account; then they in rage,  
Will put him into Bridewell, or the Cage.  
His cloak he cannot get, yet goes about it:  
Nor has he food, nor can he live without it.  
He thus laments his case.  
Wretch that I am! was I not worse than mad  
To yield to such a whore? I'm worse than bad!  
Undone, undone! I have my Fortunes crossed:  
My Friends are turned my Foes; my credit's lost.  
As I do, who can live: nor can I die:  
My death's to live; in what a straight am I!   

Me thinks the earth doth speak to my disgrace,  
The stones, the dust spit venom in my face!  
Boreas is angry, growing sharp and thin;  
The cloudy Air swells, to revenge my sin!  
The Heaven's frown, they'll not endure my sight:  
The day's controller, scorns to give me light!  
Could I with these, but once more, have a truce,  
And with my Friends, if ever such abuse  
I do commit again, then let me be  
A model of disgrace; that all by me  
May warning take; oh! how do I repent  
Of all my baseness! homeward I am bend.  
I will submit; what though my master please  
For punishment, send me to little ease!  
Or else corrects me private? let him do it:  
I have deserved it, and I'll yield unto it.  
In living thus, it adds unto my sorrow,  
Fall back, or edge, home I will go to morrow.    

SECT. 26. Of a fight betwixta whore and her Moneyless guest; and upon what terms they parted.  

ASattin Trull, that had bewitched a man  
With her enchantments; (for the Devil can  
Fulfil his pimps desires;) (a Conjured spell  
Works wonders, strange, being newly brought from hell)  
She with her powder, charms, or that black art  
Makes him her prey, and seizeth on his heart.  
She like a spider, weaves her web so fine,  
Faced like an Angel, and her speech divine.  
A perfect hypocrite! so full of Sin!  
None but the Devil was more full within!  
I'll not describe her, with her painted face;  
Her Character, is in another place.  
This paltry whore lived at so high a rate,  
So Ladylike, she must be served in state.  
With dainty fare, in plate; she will not fail,  
So long as she keeps coying with her tail.   

This painted fly spends all that he can get,  
For he's took prisoner in the Spider's net:  
He thought of nothing, but of sport and play;  
At last this fly had worn his wings away.  
A captive he remained, and was content  
To undergoed; 'twas sweet imprisonment  
In his conceir; but 'twas the Spider's will,  
To cast her venom to infect him still.  
At last the fly got loose, away went he  
Creeping along, because he could not flee.  
Oft he was catcht: because he felt no pain,  
He longs to be a prisoner once again;  
Ere he had got his strength, or imped his wings,  
With golden feathers; divers other things  
Were wanting too: as policy and wit,  
Which made this vermin, show a Bedlam fit.   

What, comest thou here? for what? hast brought no money?  
Thou simple drone, d●st think to taste the honey?  
'Pon quarter ticket? can I sup or dine,  
Or pay my rent, except thou bringst me coin?  
Words cannot cloth me, they are cheap; but thou  
Regardst me not, thou brought'st me nothing now.  
Then like a Panther flew she in his face,  
Her claws were sharp, her talons did disgrace  
His form and visage: he was scratch so sore,  
The blood ran out, you'd think he'd come no more  
To visit her; because he felt the smart:  
Face, purse, both changed; all will not change his heart;  
He begs, entreats, oh! here's a valiant spirit!  
She pleads desert, and stands upon her merit.  
The co●ne he had, he gave her to be quiet;  
But still she swears, five pound's but three day's diet.  
Must I not feast my friends, to raise my name  
From ill report, to credit, love, and fame?  
I must be openhanded to the poor,  
I must give food and money at my door:  
And to my neighbours must not I be free,  
To win their love, they may speak well of me?  
How should I do't? my love, and not my hands,  
Must bring in gains; thou knowst I have no lands.  
Out of my sight! ne'er come to me again,  
But bring more gold; I'll trade with other men.   

He was perplexed, nor knew he what to say;  
But cries for mercy, thinking of a way  
To make amends, if she would but forgive him,  
He'd send her money; for her words did grieve him.  
The under Pimp must go, they did agree,  
(Seeing he was moved with her necessity)  
That he should come again; but not before  
A time set down, or sent for by this whore.  
Nor durst he come; (oh! this a hellish prize)  
For fear that she should scratch out both his eyes.   

Fresh customers are come, she must have time,  
To tell her money, and to act her crime.   

Muse, stay not here, thou hast no hope to mend her:  
Go out and see, what money he will send her.  
He'd take up money, promise any rate,  
But here's the spite, his word is out of date.  
He tries a second, he no coync can borrow;  
A third denies him, to increase his sorrow.  
He cannot choose, but see his credit's lost:  
He frets, and swears, Was ever man thus crossed?  
But then at last, he thought upon his chest,  
Where he had clothes; one sure above the rest,  
Being very costly, must to Broker's hall,  
And be condemned, to free himself from thrall;  
He took the gold, and sent it to his trull;  
judge, had he wit? or were his brains so dull  
To think it fit, to plaster up this sore  
To bleed a frcsh? it cost him six times more.   

The whisk in brings the gold; and now this jade,  
Does bless her fortunes, such a thriving trade  
None but myself enjoys! how am I blest!  
I live at ease, I eat and drink the best!  
My house well furnished, I have joy my fill,  
I go in silk, here's gold, more's coming still;  
O sweet! O pleasing! profitable sin!  
To raise me thus! now I can raise my kin:  
I've brave attendants, one wears silver lace,  
The other scarlet, is not this a grace?   

Now here's a calm, the blustering Devils laid,  
The evil spirit's conjured; hell is stayed,  
From belehing fury: is't not very strange?  
'Twill vent again, when once the Moon doth change:  
The Pimps must have their sees, need makes'em crave it,  
To buy them boots; she's loath to let'em have it,  
Although her gold doth ring such lusty sounds:  
Her trading raised from eighteen-pences to pounds.  
'Tis but a time! will she be ever young?  
Her pounds will fall to ninepences ere't be long.  
Age and the P. will shame her shameless lise;  
Or hell will arbitrate, and end the strife.   

But where's the lecher all this while, that I  
Have left so long? thoughts of Adultery,  
Have made him drunk; or is he raging mad,  
To think upon the pleasure that he had?  
And how he is deprived? or of the time  
When he shall go once to renew his crime?  
Or does he count the minutes of the clock?  
Or enjoy time, and wish himself a Stock?  
Or does he take an hour for a day?  
Or thinks the day a year? or does he stay  
I'th' Country for the air? or in the City,  
Expecting still when she will show him pity  
To send for him? and think that hour is blest?  
For that hour's sake, he'll chide, and curse the rest.  
The time's not come, she set; nor has he treasure,  
He dares not go 'pon pain of her displeasure;  
Unless he'd sell his eyes, or pawn his face  
Against her nails; 'tis money buys the place.  
His heart is dead, although his grief survive;  
His body tombs his mind, while he's alive.  
The time is tedious, for it will not run;  
Nor change the scene, until its part be done.  
The place yields no content, nor will he tarric  
In any place, his fancy still doth vary.  
No company can give to him delight,  
Except the quean; O! were she in his sight  
To put his mind in tune, his grief were passed:  
H'has ne'er been merry since he saw her last.   

The faithless Broker, on the other hand,  
Doth fret him too; he will not take his band,  
And let him have his suit; no, he must pay,  
Or if he doth not fetch it at the day,  
'Twill be condemned again; so he's perplexed:  
The Broker and the whore, though he be vexed,  
Show him no favour; how is he distressed!  
He's no more pitied than a savage beast.  
Had he but money, than the Pimp would find him,  
And flatter him, and swear, how she did mind him  
At every turn; and open such a story,  
That how she counted him her chiefest glory.  
But now he fears, he'll bring some other to her,  
That's flush with gold: & help him then to woo her.   

Alaspoore man! why dost not think as well,  
The way to her is the right way to hell?  
Think how Calisto, in his heat of lust,  
Beat out his brains; think how this whore will rust,  
And moult away: Paulina was more fair,  
Dukes did embrace her; like the guilded air  
She did appear; she to the Hangman gave  
Herself a Prostitute; that she might have  
But one meal's meat; sh'was afterward denied  
A piece of bread; with guilt and shame she died.  
Cast up thy gain, see how it doth amount;  
The more thou sinnest, the greater's thy account.  
How vain! how short! how cursed are thy contents!  
Take them at best, they are but merriments,  
That bring forth shame, guilt, everlasting horror;  
Art thou not mad, that thou dost thus grieve for her?  
Wouldst thou fain have thy children beg their bread?  
To hate thee living, and to curse thee dead?  
Now turn betime, while yet thou hast a space;  
For after death, thou'lt find nor time, nor place.    

SECT. 27. Of the life, death, and funeral of a Gentleman, undone by a brood of vermin.  

AMournfull accident I must unfold!  
I'll speak but that which prating Fame hath told:  
A Gentleman well bred (for by relation,  
His friends were famous for their reputation)  
Brought up to learning, never sparing cost;  
But yet it was but charge, and labour lost.  
For why? his lewdness hurried on his fate,  
He followed whores, so was unfortunate.  
What e'er he got, 'twas spent, and all his care,  
Was to grow careless; he would never spare,  
But laid it on; for this, who can but see,  
That whores are known the costli'st beasts that be?  
Much thus he spent, and oft he was supplied;  
But of his will he was at last denied.  
His father found all was but thrown away,  
The more he had, the more he went astray.   

He to reclaim him, strived to keep him shorter;  
It changed him not, but put his mind to torture.  
Advice, instructions, promises to woo him,  
The likely danger put he oft unto him;  
Then threatening him, that for his fowl demerit,  
He'd cast him off, and would him disinherit.  
All would not serve, he is so far from mending,  
That he's more vile, though not so much in spending.   

But tenderhearted parents needs must love  
The child, though bad; their bowels still'did move.  
Though he was shameless (sin did never grieve him)  
Yet still his father could not but relieve him.  
He'd often cry out, This unhappy Boy  
Hath shamed my glory, and o'erthrown my joy:  
I am in doubt, if I his part should take,  
I shall be deemed as guilty for his sake:  
If I neglect him, though he be so vild,  
I shall be censured too; he is my child.  
My grief is great, yet all my hope's not past,  
Though he goes far, yet he may turn at last.  
How should I joy, to see him turn and thrive!  
I'd think myself, the happiest man alive.  
My hope dies now; while I fresh hopes would borrow,  
Fear threatens me, to aggravate my sorrow.   

This Russian values not (as it appears)  
His father's mourning, nor his mother's tears.  
Nor weeping of his sister, nor his brother;  
Nor yet the counsel of his friends, nor other:  
But such as are like-minded with him; they  
He'll hug, although they take him as a prey.  
His Comrades are such Roarers, you may well  
Think they were newly vomited from hell.  
For like a gallant of great Pluto's Court,  
With borrowed language, one must make him sport:  
Although he be a bird fit for a cage,  
Yet, if he can but parrot on the stage,  
He's now a Gentleman, th'other can coin  
New oaths, and swear, This oath at first was mine.  
He swears in founo, domineering in't;  
Hell would elect him Master of the Mint.  
Give him the wall, or else he'll draw, or stab,  
He's made an Usher to a painted Drab.  
His wealth hangs on his back (let's have no mocks)  
His riches lie in his Tobacco-box.  
He's valiant! pity 'tis he wants a sword,  
The Gentleman must buy, or pass his word  
To furnish him: and then he'll brag and boast,  
And hack and hew, as mad Tom did the post.  
His clothes are all put into Tailor's books,  
He'll hardly pay, I guess it by his looks:  
The Tavern is the place where he'll abide;  
His sword doth hang so neatly by his side,  
He looks upon't; it joys him at the heart;  
Then knocks, & cries; Rogue, bring the other quart;  
But has no coin: it is enough that he  
Vouchsafe to grace them with his company.   

Then having paid, and drank a round carouse,  
They went to revel in a bawdy house,  
(As'twas supposed) but there they fell at strife;  
The Gentleman ('twas thought) did keep his wife,  
And he consented to't; but who can tell,  
Whether or no? but this, all was not well.  
The wine did work, which stirred up angry words,  
From words to blows; and having drawn their swords,  
The quarrel grew so hot (and so it past  
Between them all) that it fell out at last,  
This gallant there was slain; a little wound  
Spoilt his delight, and brought him to the ground.  
A fearful thing! but e'rehe lost his breath,  
He struggeld much with that grim Tyrant, Death,  
Confessed his faults, but when his friends came in,  
Shame forced him thus to aggravate his sin.   

Alas! my sorrow cannot be expressed!  
A hell, a hell is gendered in my breast!  
My hateful sins have brought me to this case,  
And every one seems with a Devil's face:  
I lived a beast, O! that I might so die;  
I wish in vain! worse than a beast am I!  
I scorned advice, now I am scorned of all,  
The world may now rejoice to see my fall.  
My soul is sunk; it must go, who knows whither?  
I'd live, yet die, and yet I would do neither!  
My heat increased, though I did often drench it:  
But now I find, my blood alone will quench it.  
Reproach for ever seizeth on my name,  
And for my sake, my friends must bear the shame.   

How short are vain delights! how soon they're gone!  
They show content, but yet they give us none.  
Unseasoned pleasures! what is't that they bring,  
But guilt? they pass, and bear a dreadful sting,  
Which time will ne'er wear out. Alas! this story  
Is but a catalogue of painted glory!  
I pleased myself with sensual things; and lies  
I took for truth: all good I did despise.  
I see my folly, how am I too blame!  
These cursed contents have but a rotten name.   

Thou great Preserver of the souls of men,  
Show mercy on me: and thy praises then  
Shall be declared by all that know thy love:  
And I shall bless thee with thy Saints above.   

Vile world adieu! O heavens, take my breath!  
And snatch my soul out of the jaws of death!  
Thus spoke, he ended; all his breath was spent:  
Death seized on him, and closed him in his tent.  
To show the case his body then was in,  
The consequent of his precedent sin,  
I now forbear; I'll give you leave to think  
What whores do bring, with great excess of drink.   

His friends lament him; how their tears do fall:  
They'll all be spent before the funeral.  
His mother chiefly lays to heart this cross;  
With brinish tears she thus bewails her loss.   

O heavens! how hath this black horrid fate  
Made such a blessing so unfortunate!  
Had he but died an infant; or my womb  
That brought him forth, had been his senseless tomb,  
Both had been happy; how had I been blest!  
For in my grave I had been left at rest.  
But now I am tormented; this my sorrow,  
Until death come, will never find a morrow.  
I see on hopes the more I set my mind,  
The less of comfort I am like to find.  
Who had more hopes than I had of a son?  
Who hath less joy? alas I am undone!  
Is this a token given by a friend,  
To bring my boy to an untimely end?   

More she had spoke; but being discontented,  
Grief called for tears, and so she was prevented.  
The Cause of this his death, how he was slain,  
Whose fact it was, all's evident and plain.  
Who'd stand upon't? the Sessions would decide it,  
But that I think they have already tried it:  
He's coffined up; now this is all I crave,  
Provide some tears, and drop them on his grave!  
I would not beg, but that his friends have none;  
Yet in a week, they'll pay you ten for one.  
Grave, now receive him; I've discharged my trust.  
Conceal his name: and cover him with dust.   

His Epitaph.  
HEre lies a man, I can no whit commend him,  
He shamed himself in living like a beast;  
While he had cash, his Imps would then defend him:  
Now he is charged, to make the worms a feast.  
His lust, his life, that was so proud and stout,  
How soon 'twas with a rapiers point let out!    

SECT. 28. Of an old man, wooing, and marrying of a young girl; how they disagreed, and how she turned a whore.  

THere lived a man, (but where I need not tell)  
For credit, worth, esteemed of all so well,  
That fame began to prate on't: for his life,  
To make it sweet, he wanted but a wife:  
Death robbed him of his first; she's in her tomb,  
Had he another to supply her room,  
How happy he should be! for being old,  
He must have one, to keep him from the cold.  
Wealth's not sufficient, to cheer his age:  
He's newly entering on the seventh stage,  
Of bald swift time; his hair with snow was mixed,  
But 'twas at odds, for there were paths betwixt,  
The hoary-frost, had seized upon his beard,  
His face was pale, and wrinkled: you have heard,  
How Northern Boreas, from the pole doth glide,  
To shake his treasure, o'er the Western bride.  
The plants do tremble, Winter is his guest,  
Of all the months, December suits him best,  
So is his flesh grown i'll, his bones do quiver,  
Some young one that is warm, must him deliver;  
From his cold palsy: O! how feign he'd find  
One qualified agreeing to his mind!  
He sought a while, but 'twas his hap at last  
To spy a Virgin, as the stroets he passed;  
And as he looked, his heart began to melt,  
His colour's changed; the passion that he felt,  
Did warm his blood: his shaking fit grows more,  
But altered quite; not cold, as 'twas before.  
Has Winter's Sun now got such power here?  
Or will it be thus warm, but once a year?  
Frost has no heat in●● whence then comes this change:  
The air is cold, the alteration's strange;  
Nor was there sign of fire, how comes this frost  
Dissolved so soon? 'twas by a walking ghost.  
she'd made him young again, if she had stayed:  
But now he'll ne'er be well, till she be laid.   

This old man bends his mind, t'obtain his ends,  
H'has hope to have her, 'cause he knows her friends,  
He'll go to try; if he be welcome to her,  
He's mad for ever; but his gold must woe her.  
He wants a face, he fears she will abhor him;  
But yet he hopes, his wealth will do it for him.  
Wealth is a Lady; no one will despise her:  
But if she doth, he knows, her friends are wiser.  
He's gone to try; I wish him good success:  
And all that know the man, can do no less.  
He speaks but little; that is best at first;  
The sight of here's enough to quench his thirst:  
Yet he must kiss her; had you seen them play,  
You would have laughed: she cried, old man, away.  
He must embrace her: O, this precious pearl!  
Fie, fio, said she, an old man kiss a girl?  
Her friends approved on't; he has hope to speed,  
He thinks in time the girl would be agreed.   

Home he returns; but ere he goes again,  
He'll change his visage: though his habit's plain  
He'll have it altered; though his beard be made  
To grow so broad, and squared like a spade,  
It must be shaved away; and it must be  
Turned up, and sharp'c just like a Roman T:  
His cloak bag, breeches too, shall be cut less,  
He will be suited, in a comely dress.  
To suit the rest, he wears his second Ruff,  
'Twas made of Cambric, or some dainty stuff.  
His hat's cut narrower, and 'tis nearly dressed:  
(Good husbandry.) He means to keep his best,  
Until the wedding: Lovely he had been,  
To look upon, had he but changed his skin.   

He's gone without his staff; he wants no prop,  
The worst thing is, (being cold) his nose doth drop.  
He courts this lovely lass, with great delight,  
She finds his drift, and then she loathed his sight.  
At last he broke his mind to her, and said;   

I have a suit to thee: I am a afraid,  
Thou wilt deny me: this is all I crave,  
Thy love, thy love, O! that's the thing I'd have:  
Sweet honey, grant me this, and I will prove,  
So kind to thee, that I'll deserve thy love.  
I've wealth enough, I'll make it all thine own:  
If I can have from thee this favourshown,  
I shall be blest; am I too old for thee?  
I'm not so old though as I seem to be.  
What's forty years? my wife death took away;  
I grieved so much, that made my hair turn grey.  
Thou'lt find me young, and active, never fear;  
Be thou but kind; this Diamond-ring, my dear,  
Take as a pledge: come, never blush, but speak  
Thy mind in love; or else my heart will break!  
Young men are fickle, care less of their wives,  
Men that are stayed, do love them as their lives.  
Thy friends do like it well, if I may find  
Thy liking too, O! how 'twill ease my mind!  
Then he was silent; but the maid replied:   

Sir, you mistake the mark; or shoot too wide.  
Does grey hairs dote? how do you think I can  
(Being young and fresh) affect so old a man?  
In policy you have these words expressed  
To try my wit: I take it but in jest.  
Love's out of date with you; 'tis rather meet,  
You buy you coffin, and your winding sheet.  
I thank you for your love; your wealth, your gold  
Provokes me not: if I may be so bold,  
I'll say you were not wise, to set your mind,  
'Pon one so young: but love they say is blind.   

If needs you'll wive, then take a marron grave;  
Decrepit age, with wealth might comfort have.  
Cease, cease your suit; judge, is't a fitting thing  
To match cold Winter, to the wanton Spring?  
My blood's now rising, yours is in the fall,  
You'd do me wrong, yourself no good at all.  
What good wilt be to you to do me harm?  
You'd have a young one, now, to keep you warm.  
I cannot think my friends will give consent  
To sell me to a living punishment.  
Farewell old Father; age might make you know,  
Seing you are rich, you should not look so low.   

He hearing this, it cut him to the heart;  
But could not speak a word, to case his smart:  
His joints did shake, his eyes bewrayed their lust;  
Then to her friends went he, now speak he must:  
Alas! this peevish wench, doth slight my proffer,  
My love, my person, wealth, whate'er I offer  
As tokens of good will, are not respected;  
The giver, and the gift, are both rejected.  
Persuade her but to love me; then will I  
Invest her to my wealth: and when I die,  
I'll leave her all; if she refuse to give  
Her love to me, long here I cannot live.   

Then they well weighing, of his great estate,  
The credit that he had, how fortunate  
She might be in the Match; how they might save,  
A sum of money by't; he did not crave  
A portion, but her love he aimed at most:  
She in his riches; he in her would boast:  
They summed up all; for they had many ends,  
She being raised, she might prefer her friends,  
They use persuasions, arguments to move her,  
With promises; and how the man would love her.  
But threatening was the burden of the song;  
She blushed, she wept, and yet she held her tongue.  
But discontented, to herself she said:   

In what a case am I! I am afraid  
I shall be lost for ever. I had rather  
Displease myself, than move, and vex my father.  
One I must do; I shall be counted vild,  
If he refuse to own me for his child.  
Nor will he give me means; I shall be poor,  
And if I beg my bread, from door to door  
Who'll pity me? if I this old man take,  
His wealth can never restitution make  
To my afflicted mind! how shall I do  
To ease my heart, and please my father too?  
His age will shame my youth, how shall I meet  
My old acquaintance, as I walk the street,  
Without a blush? his wrinkled flesh, his breath,  
Will be to me as similes of death.  
Oh, who would match young blood with parched dust?  
Or marrow with dried bones? alas! I must!  
Time bring my doom! that's all the hope I have,  
That I shall lay him quickly in his grave!   

So she submits, and now her Fathers pleased,  
The match is made, the Signors mind is eased.  
But she is grieved; her grieving is in vain:  
For 'tis too late to ease her of her pain.   

My Muse was charged (I'm loath that she should stray)  
To bid the guests, against the wedding day.  
Nor show th'apparel that they did provide,  
To fit the Bridegroom and his lovely Bride.  
The preparation for the marriage feast,  
What company, who was the chiefest guest.  
What mirth they raised, yet how the Bride was sad,  
What plate was there, th'attendance that they had.  
Nor of the Music, how they played, and sung,  
And bore their parts, or how the bells were rung.  
What they agreed, their walking after dinner,  
Their merry tales, or who was the beginner:  
Nor how they supped; the possets at the last;  
How he rejoiced, when once the day was passed.  
Or how the Bride was loat'h to go to bed,  
(She was not jealous of her maidenhead.)  
How she desired, that her friends would stay,  
How he thought long, before they went away.  
With sundry other things, if I rehearse,  
They'd rob me of my time, and stuff my verse.   

Black Morpheus covered them, old Time did place'em;  
But Hymen being angry, would not grace'em.  
Dame Nature's vexed at those that made the match:  
Her choler's turned to craft, and she does watch,  
To do'em a mischief; she the marriage cursed,  
She scorned to come to't, though sh'was bid at first.  
The Fates are bend against him, in their rage,  
They'll graft his head, then bring him on the stage.   

They had been married but a little space,  
Ere he grew jealous; and he did disgrace  
Her in his carriage; he did mind the earth,  
And digged for gold; she pleasure loved, and mirth.  
He was so harsh to her, and did deny  
Her things convenient; he was in her eye  
Slighted as much; for he was froward, mad;  
And feared h'had lost, that love he never had.  
His fire is quickly quenched, but there's a flame  
Of lust in her: nor can he quench the same.  
He's growing downward, she is rising still,  
He'd keep her in, but she will have her will.  
She calls for money, but he keeps her short;  
And sitting by herself, being all amort,   

Thus she complains: oh, how am I distressed!  
Undone for ever! and my mind's oppressed!  
Had death but married me, I had not seen  
These days of grief, or matched with age, and spleen.  
Oh! that my tender flesh, my blood, and bones,  
Were raked in earth, and covered o'er with stones!  
I should be freed from this cold piece of lead,  
That chills my flesh, lies by me in my bed.  
Oh! who would suffer such a thing but I?  
My temper's hot, and moist, he's cold and dry.  
Why should I spend my youthful days in sorrow?  
Or stay death's leisure, waiting for a morrow?  
Shall I alive, be penned up in my grave?  
Mewed up at home, to please this hidebound slave?  
I'll never do't: Lycurgus made a law  
To break such matches; and to keep in awe  
Such jealous fools: wise Solon did consent  
That woman which at home had no content,  
Might have some other friend should freely do  
Without control, what she consented to.  
What pity 'tis, these Laws are out of date!  
That could not choose, but be a happy State!  
This help I have, I know he is precise,  
(Though he be crafty, I will be as wise.)  
I'll be so too: I'll go to Church, nay more,  
I'll read, I'll pray, I'll seem to go before  
The strictest of them; many things I'll do,  
Lift up mine eyes; both lie, and flatter too.  
He'll ne'er distrust me, than I shall be known,  
I'll get acquaintance, and I'll use mine own.  
Nature hath made me perfect, I was borne  
To please myself, and give this Churl the horn.  
I shall have gold enough, love, and delight,  
When men of worth take pleasure in my sight.   

This hypocrite is troubled in her mind,  
Dissembles cleanly; if he will be kind,  
And let her go, that she may comfort take,  
Sh'has sworn to turn a Convert for his sake.  
He's glad; these times to her he will allow,  
He does not doubt, but she's a Convert now.  
She's manned along, she's gone, (he does not fear)  
To see and to be seen, but not to hear.  
When she comes home, she is so grieved for sin,  
She cannot tell the text; but she'll begin  
To change her life: 'tis true, you may believe her,  
She has not sinned enough, and that doth grieve her.  
She's provident, she'll do the best she can,  
To bring her mind to go without a man.  
She'd seem to go to Church, but missed the door,  
Because her mind was bend to play the whore.   

Her customers kept touch; nor did she stay,  
But Sermon-time; a game, and so away.  
Her forward zeal did please the old man's mind,  
Although it burned amiss; he could not find  
Out her deceit: before the bells had rung,  
She'd still be gone, and staying somewhat long,  
At last he did mistrust, and sent a spy,  
Who being cunning, with a watchful eye,  
Found out her tract; and took her in the lurch;  
For of a bawdy-house, she made her Church.   

This news being brought, oh, how this man lamented!  
His passion stopped his mouth: so discontented!  
His grief's to great, to be expressed with tongue,  
Or melted into tears, shames mixed among.  
When she came home (poor whore) (she had no doubt  
That he mistrusted, or had found her out.)  
She seemed to be much taken with the preacher,  
And for the sermons sake, she praised the teacher.  
She could rehearse the doctrine, and the use,  
But left the reasons out; her foul abuse  
Is now discovered: yet she does deny it;  
He's but a knave that says it; I defy it.  
But being proved so plainly to her face,  
And where she was; she altered then her case.  
Not by submission; but she was more bold:   

And told her husband; sir, you are too old  
For my young years; you cannot give delight;  
I like you ill by day, but world at night.  
Age makes you senseless; just like wood, or stone,  
You take up room, but all your vigor's gone.  
Besides, you are so fretful, and so froward,  
So hidebound, jealous, dogged, and untoward,  
I cannot love you; I must take my pleasure,  
I am too quick, to tarry your dull leisure.  
You knew my mind before, yet you would crave  
My person; but my love you could not have.  
You urged my friends, and they prevailed with me  
To give my hand; my heart did ne'er agree.  
Was not your act in that, as bad as this?  
Pray pardon me then, though I do amiss.   

He stayed not to reply, nor to relate  
How by her means, he was unfortunate;  
Nor of her former carriage, nor that act,  
Though her dissembling did increase the fact.  
But he in fury opened wide the door,  
And turned her out; now she's a licensed whore.  
She's known abroad, and she willtrade with many,  
And by degrees with sharking rogues, or any,  
That are but young; she'll freely share a stake:  
But with no old man, for her husband's sake.  
Within the city she doth first begin  
To set up for herself; and truck with fin.  
She keeps all open, and she freely can  
Bid welcome to the master, or the man.  
But yet she stays not long, in any place,  
She'll change her name, and often change her face.  
Yet now and then, the prisons crave a fee,  
theyare largely paid by such a one as she.  
Some by her, lost their credits; some their health,  
Some lost their souls (I fear) and all their wealth.  
Men were bewitched by this deluding sinner:  
And when she found her hel-black troop came thinner,  
She left the city walls, though there 'twas fading,  
She thought the skirts would yield her constant trading,  
When she had found a guest, that pleased her eye,  
She never left him, till sh'had drawn him dry.   

But walking by herself, two sparks did dog her,  
And one of them was but a pettifogger:  
Of truebred whoremasters; he had the strain,  
H'had shameless speech, his nose was died in grain:  
He wanted wit, and money, but his hope,  
Because he had relation to the Pope,  
He should be fortunate, and welcome to her:  
And any friendly office he can do her,  
(Put coin aside) she shall command him still,  
All that he craves, is only her good will,  
That he may wait upon her; to a minute,  
He'll do her service; she may trust him in it.   

She entertains this servant of renown,  
But with his Mistress he's familiar grown,  
And very inward; (yet if you had spied him,  
You would have thought the Hospital had fried him.)  
Pretending business at her chamber late,  
And e'er she rose: they two must lie and prate.  
What else they did at any time, or place,  
I'll leave it on the score: time will not raze  
The shame away: they all the debt must pay,  
Or here below, or at the judgement day.   

This lecherous Trull is careless of her name,  
Forgets her soul, and makes a jest at shame.  
She has her choice of Rascals; 'mong the rest,  
One seasoned whoremaster doth like her best:  
He's very brave, although he be not rich;  
His colour's like to carrion in a ditch.  
His life doth stink as bad; he had a wife,  
But whilst she lived, she had a begging life.  
He spends his means and time to keep this whore,  
And for her sake, he'll make his children poor.  
His friends forsake him, he is led by sense,  
He's scorned of all men; that's his recompense.  
The Cancars make him vex, 'tis worst of all,  
They visit him at every spring and fall.  
They search within, and creep up in their kind,  
To seize upon his eyes, and make him blind.   

This quean doth carry't smoothly; with her tongue  
She does deceive men, modest looks among  
Are mixed with her deceits; and with the best  
She strives to dwell, and make her whorish nest:  
And goes in modest habit; none can know,  
But that she's honest by the outward show.  
With whores 'tis grown in fashion in our times,  
With seeming modesty to hide their crimes.  
Where ere she comes, her promises are large,  
If custom fail she cannot pay the charge.  
If she be forced, her lodging to remove,  
They must believe: she'll leave her empty love  
Behind in pawn; this pawn is cheap and ill:  
But if she pay not, they must keep it still.  
Long she continued in this shameful course,  
No alteration, but from bad to worse.  
The old man tries all means to change her mind,  
All is but labour lost; nor can he find  
Content without her; he his time had passed  
With discontent; Death darted him at last.  
And now she's jovial; all her debts she'll pay,  
(If they can get'em) when he's clothed in clay:  
To time I'll leave her, she must take her turn  
By death e'er long. Now he's laid in his urn.   

His Epitaph.  
THis Signior sold his joy, to please his lust;  
He did repent on't, when his heat was quenches;  
Time judged it fitter he should match with dust,  
When he with brinish sorrow had been drenched.  
Dame Nature envies all unequal matches:  
Death, for his fault, doth keep him under hatches.    

SECT. 29. Of a proud, stately Harlot raised by her sin; how she reigned divers; and of many passages in the prosecution of it.  

THe gallant whore, who goes in rich array,  
Turns day to night; the night she'll turn to day:  
Although at first her breeding was but base,  
Sprouts as a branch from some Imformers' race.  
Being somewhat handsome in her blushing prime,  
She thinks it best, to make use of her time.  
Some braying Ass that can but use his tongue,  
He'll compliment: they being both but young,  
Are soon be witched with one another's faces;  
Then for their ends they have their meeting places,   

Till at the last this Ass had shed his coat,  
His braying altars to a mourning note.  
The Sergeants, Bailiffs, do increase his fears,  
Poor Ass at last doth prick, or shake his ears,  
And thinks his heelcs are better than his hands,  
He whips away into the Netherlands.   

This Quean adorns her like a modest Maid:  
Alas! another is by her betrayed!  
Now she being cunning, will not serve his lust;  
His fire burns, and marry her he must:  
A little while they do in pleasure swim;  
At last he finds she made an Ox of him,   

He then complained: Alas! what did I mean,  
To marry thus an overriden quean?  
His way of trading he doth quite neglect,  
His Creditors will give him no respect.  
His stock's confirmed, his credit all is lost:  
Poor simple man! he with this whore is crossed!  
She lays it on, and spends (while it remains)  
On such that promise to allow her gains.  
At last, when he had run so far in debt,  
He'd buy some wit, but 'tis too late: he'll fret:  
His wit and money parted are away,  
Now he must run, he can no longer stay.   

The time is come this whore did wish to have,  
She'll have more freedom with a perjured knave:  
She'll trim herself, and paint her face anew:  
She's brave! her face looks of another hue.  
Come now who will, this block is far removed:  
You are the man that I have ever loved.  
Then she will swear that she'll be constant to him;  
She works him in, but quickly she'll undo him.  
He must maintain her at a lofty rate;  
She goes in pomp; at last her whorish state  
Does bring him low; his house he keeps no longer,  
He is conveyed to one that is far stronger.  
Then he bewails his lamentable cross;  
And does relate their passages; his loss  
('Tis evident, poor man! he must abide it)  
Breaks out the more, the more he strives to hide it.  
Now when this whore does want a man of worth  
To keep her brave, she'll send her Pander forth.  
(Pray call him Captain) she must bear his charge;  
Her streams are low, expenses have been large.  
Well, out he goes, being hindered by no weather;  
His money's spent, but he will shake his feather:  
He finds the Spark, he tells him of a Lass,  
That doth for beauty all the rest surpass.  
If he'd but go, he shall be welcome to her,  
She's somewhat coy; but he will help to woo her.   

These jovial blades must make a merry day,  
To talk more on't: the reckoning called to pay,  
Pimps purse is empty; but's Tobacco-box  
To all is free (they'd best beware of pox)  
In open glasses they must drink the round,  
Then suck the weed of eighteen pence a pound.  
Now Whisk in brings this jovial gallant up,  
A place appointed where they all must sup:  
And for their sauce, they have this painted lade  
Brought in; he sees her, scone the match is made:  
They vow then to be constant to each other:  
She is his sister, he must be her brother:  
And while he lives, he never will for sake her:  
But for his wife, he'll bid, The Devil take her.   

Now for his whore; her back and belly cheer,  
Do cost him full five hundred pounds a year:  
Maintains the Pimp that brought him to this thrall:  
No other Bawd; she's Whore and Bawd and all.  
Now farewell Frieze, h'has got to grace this harlot,  
A Stammel suit; but you must call it Scarlet.  
In habit like a Citizen she'll be;  
Sometimes no Lady is more fine than she.  
A house for winter, she must have to stand  
About the City, with a brave command:  
Her Summer-house near to the flowing tide,  
Rich furniture, gained by her whorish pride.  
Now when this Spark is from his Fondling gone,  
If none come to her, then she'll send for one;  
Bring her but money, she will use her trade,  
And truck with any, like a Hackney lad.  
When he returns, she'll wipe her mouth, and say,  
Why did my sweeting stay so long away?  
He must embrace her, kiss, and call her honey;  
She'll quickly search to see what store of money  
He'has brought her home; if little, then she'll frown,  
She wants a satin, or a tabby-gown.  
Up he must take it on the Mercer's score,  
And glad he is that he can please this whore:  
And of the Goldsmith jewels, diamond-rings:  
When this is done, still she wants other things.  
His state consumes, his friends give council to him  
With grief: and plead, this whore will soon undo him.  
All will not serve, but he will still adore her.  
His wife now sees a queen preferred before her,  
With heavy heart does to her husband cry:   

Forsake this whore, or I with grief shall die!  
With tears she prays, as she before him stands,  
You have an heir, than mortgage not your lands.  
Alas! you know, 'twill be a living shame,  
When he is an heir only but in name!  
These infants, they must beg, or else do worse,  
You on your children strive to bring a curse:  
Shall it be said, this was his father's place?  
He kept a whore, and sold it with disgrace?  
Your of-spring-too shall ever bear this slain,  
You raised them up, and threw them down again,   

Think on that vow you did in marriage make,  
With that injunction; which was, then to take  
None but myself; you know I am your wife:  
This Harlot now has gained your love; sowed strife  
Betwixt us two: what is love gone for ever?  
Which once I thought, that none but death could sever?  
Myself, my love was constant still and true;  
My friends I did forsake for love of you;  
Oh! be persuaded, pity now my smart;  
And toward your children, bear a fathers hear?   

If to my suit you will not bend your cares,  
Let grief dissolve me to a flood of tears!  
When thirsty time hath drank up all my store,  
Then take me death: for I can weep no more;  
And let me now a second favour find,  
My children take, which I shall leave behind.  
And for my husband, let all honest men  
Lay out some tears; he'll one day pay'em again.  
Until that time, I wish, that babbling Fame,  
Be silenced that he never spread his name.  
This one thing more (my passion is so strong:)  
And then for ever I will hold my tongue:  
Some Poet he will write upon your grave,  
He kept a whore who used him as a slave,  
To maintain her, he did both sell and borrow;  
His children beg, his wife she died with sorrow.  
Let time and age with men record his fall:  
Be warned by him; his whore and he spent all.   

This plaint moves not; nor infant's moans about her  
He's vexed at her, and sometimes he doth flour her;  
Then he relates this story to his drab,  
Who answered thus; what, hath she eat a Crab?  
What, doth she prate? a stinking dirty slut!  
Is she too full? I vow I'll pinch her gut,  
And make her glad to eat a piece of bread;  
What will she die, except she may be head?  
I'll keep her bare and make her speak me fair;  
You must be tutored too about your heir.  
Tush, let him work, and set him to a trade;  
Pack out the rest: and let this ugly lade  
Vex in her grease; what, doth she send about  
Her privy spics to find our meeting out?  
Do, be a fool! and let her railing pass,  
And show thyself a tender-hearted ass!  
What didst thou say when she did call me whore?  
Pray Love, be quiet. I'll do so no more?  
She rail at me! Oh! would I could but meet her  
In place convenient: see how I could greet her.  
Pray if you love me, make her rule her tongue;  
She's old, and wrinkled, I am fresh and young.  
A snotty jade! I mar'le, how thou couldst love her!  
She's vexed that I have got respect above her.  
Let any one that hath but skill to try,  
judge which is handsomest, whether she or I:  
Let none compare me to this homely joan!  
She sreets because she's sane to lie alone.  
Who'd lie by such a withered piece of flesh,  
When he may have well favoured, sweet and fresh?  
Go to thy dowed, if thou hast but a mind:  
And quit forget that I to thee was kind.   

Sweet, dost thou think that I will be so mad,  
That ere her words or tears shall make me sad?  
No, do not think I have so little wit:  
Let, let her swell in this her frenzy fit.  
Shall I be tied? I'll tame this peevish fool.  
And for her tongue, let winter make it cool;  
Let night-hags fright her in her bedlam dreams,  
Whilst thou and I delight in pleasant themes!  
I'll take my pleasure. Why should I do less?  
I'll be no slave to what I do possess.  
Come, thou art mine; and thou shalt find me fair  
My love to thee is more than to my heir;  
I'll spend my ' state; a brood of brats I have  
Who for my means do wish me in my grave;  
Thus far I am resolved, for love of thee:  
When I am gone, the world is gone with me.  
Thou hast my heart, thou knowst I cannot leave thee:  
I am too honest ever to deceive thee.  
Hang't, let her chat until her tongue be weary:  
Care kills a cat, but we will still be merry:  
But yet I'll use a trick to make her quiet,  
She shall go barer, and have meaner diet.  
And if she die, a grave I'll quickly make her,  
I love her so; make speed, come, heavens take her.    

SECT. 30. Of the woman dying with grief; Her Funeral.  

Muse dip thy quill in blood, or tears of mine  
Shall change thy ink, and turn it into brine:  
Make sad thyself; and when that envious night  
Doth cast a veil to rob thee of the light  
(Being clad in darkness) then do thou begin  
To mend thy pen, and bring those Vipers in.  
Draw now thy plaint for the poor woman's sake!  
And for her children; hark! what moan they make?  
Call in those neighbours that have grief, to spare,  
To join their hearts, and help to bear a share.   

A wife, a mother, is in such distress;  
Dry grief nor tears can never it express!  
Let strangers come, and pity her, and say  
Alas, alas! poor soul she's cast away!  
Pray stay a while, (for I invite you all)  
T'attend her corpse unto the Funeral:  
You should have wine and comfits; but the cleft  
Is grown so barren, that there is nothing left.  
Griefburned within her, to a raging flame;  
No tears were left to qualify the same;  
Being spent, she fell; and then she eased her head;  
The heaviest living; but the lightest dead.   

The Nightingale did to the black bird sing,  
And Robin Redbreast spoke no other thing:  
The Thrush, the Starling of her death did prate,  
The Lark had come too; but it was too late.  
All beasts did mourn (but some with grief were pressed)  
Save one that joyed which was a savage beast.   

Grave, use her kindly; grief hath made thee gain her!  
Worms, grumble not, but gently entertain her!  
'Tis not her fault, you have no better cheer.  
Call but a few; 'twill one day cost you dear:  
When death comes to arrest you, for her sake:  
You for the spoil must restitution make.   

Her Epitaph.  
VIew well this heap of dust, drop down a tear  
To moisten it, let every tender hart  
Mourn o'er this honest woman (call in sear)  
I'll praise those that begin, aid bear a part.  
Her husband with his whore desired her death,  
He moved with pity took away her breath.    

SECT. 31. The shameful triumph of the Whore, the Prodigal, and the Pimp.  

WE having brought her pined corpse to rest  
Hoping her soul's alive among the blessed.  
We'll turn again, and seek the wanton's three,  
The Sot, the Whore, the Pimp which merry be,  
And drinking wine, the Whore begins to prate:   Whore. 

Farewell that hag, which did my person hate;  
I'll mourn in sack: now she will rail no more,  
Nor send her elves to hearken at the door.  
She will not whine, nor can she hear us talk,  
Nor spy us here, unless her ghost doth walk:  
Come, drink to me, I'll pledge it o'er her grave  
My honest chuck? a better friend none have!  
She spit her venom, owing me a spite;  
Thou wast so constant, wouldst not break delight.  
Now thou art mine; come, take a thousand kisses!  
Black joan's not here to keep us from our blisses!   Prod. 

My sweetest love! thy speech is framed so witty  
With eloquence! much like a pleasant ditty:  
Thy cherry lips do open with such grace,  
Which when I hear, and look upon thy face;  
I see a Lily doth the Rose beguile;  
Sometimes the rose takes captive for a while  
The lily too: thy nose smells Flora's savour,  
Thy eyes like Diamonds, graced with sweet behaviour.  
I cannot hold! my arms shall now embrace thee,  
My love, my person, and my means shall grace thee:  
The Bedlam foole is now returned to dust;  
She'll come no more to haunt us here, I trust.   

Grave, keep her close; for if thou lettest her see  
The light again, I'll make a grave for thee.  
Worms, tarry not; creep forward, and grow mad  
To eat her flesh; that little that she had.  
Earth, show me favour, let no moving tones  
Make thee defer, but soon dissolve her bones.  
She being dead, and in her grave thus hurled,  
I would not see her now for all the world.  
Come, come my Io, let pleasure still delight us,  
The hag is gone, and will no more affright us.   Pimp. 

O, bravely spoken! Nature met with art,  
Acts both a Tragic, and a Comic part:  
So Poetlike! Rhetorical, and sweet,  
In lofty terms, graced with a carriage mere!  
A rarity grown too much out of fashion!  
Sharp, sweet, unseen, and yet to vent a passion!  
You speak of love so rarely, and so true,  
That Ovid might have come to school to you.  
But being cro'st your looks and words are stern,  
Democritus is childish and might learn.  
Not words alone: but this I ever find  
You are inric'h still with a noble mind.  
And all your actions savour of the same,  
Which with consent, bring honour to your name.  
I taste your bounty; and have cause to praise you!  
I'll do my best to honour and to raise you.  
O, happy journey! happy'st of the rest!  
When first I brought you where we now are blessed!  
For what I'promised then, you found no less:  
A beauty rare! more than I did express!  
That witch is gone, which did disturb our mirth,  
A prey of envy swallowed by the earth:  
The worms are feasting underneath the ground.  
Now farewell Hag, thou hast thy mortal wound    

SECT. 32. How the prodig all was servile to his whore; with the condition of the Pimp.  

Muse, make a stop, and view those ulcered blains  
That stink and run along their festered veins.  
The whore's a fountain, by whose poisoned spring  
This Bat, this Owl, they both do sit and sing:  
The Owl so soon as he hath filled his crop,  
Then of this fountain he must taste a drop;  
Though 'tis infected, yet he'll often drink,  
It glides so smoothly by the swelling brink!  
Unwholesome drops! and change doth make it thicker:  
Yet dearer than ten quarts of whelsome liquor.  
The skip-jack bat, must wait to take his prey,  
And taste those drops; the owl being flown away.  
Both birds of night: the owl he'lhave no taster:  
The bat's the servant, and the owle's the master,  
They all rejoice: now his deceitful whore,  
Doth promise love: she aims at one thing more.  
She like a frost hath nipped a fruitful head;  
She loathed her living, and she hates her dead,  
And so her mate, to please her does as much.  
Oh! who should think the world had any such!   

Unnatural brute, to slight a loving wife  
To please a whore! whose love will turn to strife!  
And flattering Pimp that has no other living,  
But by this whore, unless it be by thieving,  
To fawn on him (the pains of hell to lend him)  
And breathe his praise, when shame doth still attend him.  
No greater curse, to have a villain made  
To be familiar; but it is his trade.  
He's grown so brave, and if you heard him prate,  
You'd think he were a man of great estate:  
He'll take a house, but if you look for rent,  
You are deceived: 'twas never his intent  
To pay for sleeping; you may have his bill,  
Take that or nothing, pay the rent who will.  
For any thing, if he can get but day,  
The price parts not; he never means to pay.  
Ask him for money, he will quite forsake you,  
He'll pay with scoffs, and bid the devil take you.  
Affront a Captain? go, you cheating knaves,  
Mechanic rascals are poor hungry slaves!  
Base peasants ucx a gentleman of fashion?  
Ask me for coin, to put me into passion?  
I'll make you stay. But if you haunt his ghost,  
He'll change his lodging: man and money's lost.   

This whore being noted, then to hide her shame,  
Will oft remove, and often change her name.  
Amongst her names, there's one would make her blest  
In liar esteem; a lady is the best.  
So takes her name, alas! there is a man  
Keeps of the watch, she'll hang him if she can,  
Though't be her husband, what she can she'ldoe,  
Lest she herself be hanged for having two.   

She's coached along; she shortly must (I doubt)  
Ride in that box which carries dogs about,  
To keep her close; lest some undone quite by her,  
Should brush her coat with kanes; if they do spy her,  
'Tis good enough, but yet 'tis very bald,  
That such a punk should like the dogs be haled.  
Her ladyship (for so she'd fain be styled)  
Is grown so proud, so impudent, and vild  
That she will curse this coxcomb, like a slave,  
He durst not cross her, she her will must have.  
If he by chance doth cross her, then she'll thunder;  
He's fearful, silent, thus she keeps him under.  
Then he must beg and flatter to be sriends:  
This paltry whore will then propound her ends.  
A piece of gold, a jewel, or a ring,  
A scarf, a gorget, or some pretty thing  
That she will have, so he must buy her kisses,  
Yet he is glad, and counts them for his blisses.   

Now he's persuaded, she loves none beside him;  
Nor from her sight, she cannot well abide him.  
He'll make her honest; was it heard before  
That any man could make an honest whore?  
Or can a whore be honest? then I'll say,  
That black is white, and night is turned to day,  
The stones will fly, and fire will downward bend,  
And hell dissolve, all things amiss will mend.  
Nor do I credit that a whore loves men,  
But sor her ends: and so she's cursed again.  
His swearing is rewarded with a curse,  
Sweet poisoned pills do make his plague the worse,  
He dotes, and does an Idol of her make,  
But 'twas more safe, if he embraced a snake.  
If one to jeer him, asks with him to sup,  
To see his whore, he will so take him up;  
And swear she is as honest as his mother,  
Or any one that will make up the other.  
If he a journey from her do intend,  
And leave for her but twenty pounds to spend,  
This quean than grumbles; and her throat she'll raise,  
Pish, what is that? 'twill serve but for four days!  
She must have more; she is a costly sister,  
He had been happy, if he had but missed her.   

Well, he is gone; think how she whets her brains,  
To serve her lust, and to increase her gains:  
To show the trade she drives with other men,  
Would sad my Muse, and quite tyre out my pen.  
She chides the day, to turn it into night;  
judge bad enough; and than you'll judge aright.    

SECT. 33. How a Whore drew her sister to lewdness; arguments on both sides.  

CVstome comes thick; she cannot serve their turns,  
Her will's to do't; with lust her body burns.  
Having a sister that's a handsome maid,  
By her temptations she's at last betrayed;  
Seeing her pomp, her jewels, and attire,  
Brave company, the money for her hire:  
This silly girl, her honesty, good name,  
Doth put to sale; and glories in the same.   

Come, take my counsel, do not be a fool,  
To make a pearl; for what thou learned at school,  
Will not maintain thee: and thy father's dead,  
Left thee no means; sell, sell thy maidenhead,  
And be not peevish: thou may'st have a prize  
Will raise thy fortunes, if thou wilt be wise.  
The work is easy, 'tis delight and pleasure;  
Fool, use thine own, and thou shalt purchase treasure;  
Didst thou but know what pleasure there is seated,  
Soon wouldst thou yield, thou needest not be entreated:  
The proverb's true, Frost genders not with fire.  
To things unknown there is no great desire.  
Do, be a drudge; if thou be built for toil,  
Go settle to't: and leave the golden spoil,  
Which thou mightst take, if thou wouldst cast a trench:  
Thou wast not made to be a kitchenwench.  
For divers Knights, and Gallants would attend thee,  
What e'er thou'dst have, rhey'l either give or lend thee;  
Which is all one: what e'er it be that men  
Do lend me once, I never paid again.  
Alas, what had I? my poverty was known,  
As much as thine; now happy winds have blown  
Me golden dust: if I had been an Ass,  
T'have been so coy to let that season pass,  
What had I done? no, no, I had more wit;  
Now here thou seest, how Ladylike I sit:  
My table's furnished richly still with fare,  
All which comes free, I never do take care:  
My charge of living, plainly doth appear,  
Amounts unto a thousand pounds a year.  
Be ruled by me, I speak because I love thee,  
Of all thy kindred none shall be above thee.  
'Tis for thy sake, that I relate this story,  
Believe thine eyes, and think upon my glory.  
All honour me, a Knight would feign me wed,  
But he'res the spite, that Cuckold is not dead.  
What, all amort doth not my counsel please thee?  
Speak, pettish fool, thy mind; and that will ease thee.  
Sister, though I am poor, I hold it no disgrace,  
My honesties my portion; and my face  
Is not ashamed; I dare to show it where  
You cannot yours, unless it be in fear.  
With my condition, I am well contented;  
Though you are raised, you are to be lamented!  
My labour likes me; but the world can tell,  
You go the way which ends at last in hell.   

What is your state, for all your costly diet?  
'Tis true content, to have a conscience quiet.  
What should I do, if I commit such evil,  
But give my soul and body to the Devil?  
What you enjoy, is all but painted glory,  
The repetition makes a shameful story.  
Should I consent, than all that did me meet,  
Would blaze my shame along the open street:  
What e'er I got, what would avail my store,  
When all shall point, and say, There goes a whore?  
And when I die, my sins would then outlive me;  
Such gain is loss, and what the world can give me,  
Can no whit cool the scalding heat of sin,  
Nor bribe the conscience; but it will bring in  
A sad relation to increase my smart;  
Then pleasing sin will prove a mortal dart.  
Pray urge me not, the stones your words do hear,  
They melt with passion, and they quake with fear.  
The rustling leaves do grumble at your talk,  
The trees do threaten vengeance as we walk.  
See how the grass is now bedewed with tears,  
O're-spred with paleness, overcharged with fears;  
The fish did spy us, as they were at play,  
And were ashamed, and so they slunk away.  
Bright Phoebus too is hid behind a cloud,  
To blast your counsel; being not allowed,  
The world affords no place for sin to dwell;  
T'go out is worse, for'tis to go to hell.  
The truth ere long this sinful world shall find,  
And have reward, all suited in their kind.  
What, grown precise? what conscionable stuff  
You trade in now! I know you have enough;  
Pray sell me some; and I will pay you well,  
But pass your word, it shall me keep from hell,  
Conscience, I think, it is you prate about:  
He's hanged long since, to put you out of doubt.  
You show your wit; is this for my reward,  
To get you freed? and giving you regard?  
'Twas merely love to you that did incite me  
To do you good; but ill you do requite me.  
You saucieslut! is this the thanks I have  
To trick you up, and make you fine and brave,  
To censure me? and slight me for my pains?  
You'll damn me for't, and curse me, and my gains.  
Pray get you gone, and if you cannot brook it,  
A better place, let conscience go and seek it.   

I'll hear no lectures, nor be taught by you,  
I know enough: your counselliss so new,  
'Tis not digested; never see me more,  
Nor call me sister, be thou ne'er so poor,  
I'll never own thee; nor the least relief  
Will give to thee to qualify thy grief.  
Your Maidenhead, and honesty together,  
Will feed you then; and cloth you from the weather,  
Conscience is but a Tyrant, at the best,  
And in distress will never let thee rest.  
The Law of Nature bids thus take delight,  
And makes things meet to please our appetite.  
It kindles love, and breeds desire to it:  
Who durst say, 'Tis not lawful then to do it?  
Some Bedlam Stoic did at first devise  
(That wanted nature) treason stuffed with lies,  
To mew us up. The earth had too much treasure,  
When all was free; and all might take their pleasure?  
Have birds free leave to change once every year?  
And beasts in common ' gender free from fear?  
Shall we that once were made to keep them under,  
Enjoy less sweet, in being kept asunder?  
A learned Poetsutes a Bedlams dream,  
And idle nurses, to the conscience theme.  
‛ The less the better then, whence this will fall,  
'Tis to be perfect, to have none at all.  
'Tis not for youth, but for declining age,  
To act a winter Satire on the stage.  
Frost is till then prodigious, we may do  
What lustful youth and pleasure prompts us to.   

What sayest to this, thou froward silly girl?  
Which wilt thou choose, the pebble, or the pearl?  
To live in credit? or receive disgrace?  
In some poor cottage, still to hide thy face?  
Dost love the warmth? or dost affect the cold?  
Gain something young, or beg when thou art old.  
Come, learn some wit; my care of thee is such,  
That joins with love, which makes me speak so much,  
Fear thou not hell, or ever to be cast  
From heaven: why? we may repent at last.   

This silly virgin now is in distress!  
fain would she speak; but words cannot express  
Her troubled mind: she slides down silent tears:  
Her face is wan; within she's full of fears.  
She would deny, but fears her sister's blame,  
She would consent, but that she fears the shame.  
She views the state, and has desire to it;  
She now resolves, and yet she will not do it;  
She'd feign be gone, but that she knows not whither,  
She'll stay, then go, and yet conclude of neither.   

How is thy comely visage changed quite!  
How is the Rose fell from the Lily white  
That were composed so lovely in thy face!  
They're hid with tears, and left thee in disgrace.  
Alas! thy grief cannot be well expreft!  
A world of care torments thy tender breast!  
Thou want'st a friend; oh! that I had been by?  
I'd have theelive, as one day thou wouldst die.  
One grain of grace, is better than the world,  
Perfumes thy dust, when in thy grave thou'rt hurled.  
Where's now thy courage? think but how that gain,  
That's got by sin, will breed eternal pain:  
Though time be short, thou wilt outlive thy pleasure,  
Then all thy gain will prove but hellbred treasure.   

Why dost thou sleep, thou registerst within?  
What, art thou birbed? that thou dost wink at sin?  
Or dost thou wait (till wrath shall cloud the weather)  
For hungry death, to sum up all together?   

Yet she resolves to cast those dumps away;  
Though not invited; they conclude to stay,  
To vex her more: till at the last by sin  
She strives by force, to let ill spirits in.  
Now she's possessed. Alas! she is ensnared,  
Forgets the curse that is in hell prepared  
For desperate sinners: O! thou fool! to sell  
Thyself, and make an entrance into hell!   

She's confident (and will no more be crossed)  
Her maidenhead is sweetest, when 'tis lost.  
For gain she trades; she sells (she hath such tricks)  
Her maidenhead, at least, to five, or six.  
When she can hide no longer this device,  
Then she grows common at a lower price.  
He leave her here, I have no hope to mend her,  
I wish her turn again, or death to end her.   

Now for the whore which was the cause of this,  
She glories in't; there's nothing done amiss  
In her conceit; her heart is like a rock;  
And she's as shameless as a senseless stock.  
To this preferment hath she brought their brother,  
To make him whiskin, and deceive the other.   

But now this lecher is returned again  
To court this whore, but more and more the stain  
Doth take impression; for she hath bereft him  
Of all his honour; and his friends have left him.  
Alas poor man! thy pleasure and thy ease  
Do make thee senseless: but a worse disease  
Doth creep upon thee, than the world can bring.  
After the honey thou must have the sting,  
And at the best thy honey's mixed with gall;  
And with the bait thou tak'st the hook and all.  
What, past all cure? let conscience speak thy shame,  
Then show thee hell, and parch thee with the flame  
Set all thy sins in habit, like a devil,  
In battle ray, to fright thee from this evil:   

Let every beast, where e'er thou dost him see,  
Show that thou art a truer beast than he!  
And all men still that do upon thee look,  
Put thee in mind of that great Session's book,  
By which the world is tried! and let the earth  
'Slight thee as much as any monstrous birth!  
And let the warblers of the air now speak  
To thy disgrace! the clouds with fury break,  
Drop down revenge! the heaven's fixed eyes  
Blush at thy presence! and the lofty skies  
Look pale upon thee! let those moving powers  
Present thee wrath! and let all fragrant flowers  
Bow down their heads, still to thee let their smell  
Be like that brimstone, which does burn in hell!  
Let every creature sound (as being taught)  
This is the man that sold himself for nought!   

His whore and he begin to be so slighted,  
They cannot walk, unless they be benighted,  
But pouted at: and all their meeting places  
Deny them shelter, shamed to own their faces;  
But spew them out: their lodgings oft they change,  
Being weary of them; and a thing not strange,  
Shame still is constant! and it grows much stronger  
Like evening shadows that are ever longer,  
The nearer night; and at all turns it takes them:  
Keeps closest then, though their best friend forsakes them,  
Those little Wags, that meet them in the street,  
Will dog them home; and then they will them greet  
With Whoremaster, with Pander, and with Whore;  
They try their skill to drive them from the door.  
To purchase freedom, they must draw their swords;  
Those knavish boys will not be stilled with words.    

SECT. 34. The ruin of the bawdy house, with its appurtenances.  

THe house breaks truce (for it is daily tired)  
Because for bawd'ry it was never hired.  
And being frighted; 'tis grown strange and bald,  
In fear it shall a bawdy house be called.  
So with consumption it doth pine away,  
And being distressed, invites the night to stay,  
To hide its shame, it's vexed for what it did,  
And being guilty, it would fain be hid.   

The roof that hid them, falls into a swound:  
And by degrees drops down unto the ground  
With grief, that ever it should be so vile,  
And in revenge, it chides away the tile:  
Gives warning that 'twill stand no longer under,  
They fall with fear, and so break all in sunder,   

The morphew walls are grown so bleak and thin,  
They have (through anguish) jost the outward skin.  
Alas, poor house! 'twould grieve a man to see  
That everiestorme should take revenge on thee!  
The candied frost doth make the sore increase,  
Nor milder warmth will once admit of peace:  
Because they kept them from the raging weather,  
Their pun'shment is, they must rot together.   

The guilty windows battered with assaults,  
Repent, that e'er they did conceal their faults:  
The stones, the wind, do bring it so about,  
That by degrees they pick the quarrels out,  
Blaze forth their shame, and witness now bring in,  
That with consent condemns them for their sin.  
fain would they speak, but cannot speak aright;  
The leads so heavy, and the glass so light.   

The chamber-floore doth sink with deep conceit;  
And doth disdain to bear this sinful weight.  
One side blames th'other, and they part in splcene:  
Which parting seems a little hell between;  
Time does refuse to quit it from the stains:  
The more 'tis washed, the more the filth remains.   

The bedstead screcks, with sad and doleiull tones,  
And vents complaints, being overcharged, it groans,  
Seeks to be eased: the head doth blame the feet,  
The feet the sides; the testern that doth see't,  
Doth start for fear, that it must bear the blame,  
For winking at, and covering of their shame,  
Doth change itself to sundry ugly shapes,  
To fright from sin these vile lascivious Apes.  
The posts do vex, which do abate their strength,  
And grow so feeble, that they fall at length.   

The curtain rods (what honest man did forge them  
Do now conceit that they were made to scourge them.  
The hooks do hold them that they cannot do it;  
So they are guiltless, being willing to it.   

The rings that run these curtain rods along,  
Before were silent; now they find a tongue,  
To prattle forth their shame: and do disgrace them;  
Though they are brass, they cannot yet outface them;  
They are not freed, the canker runs about,  
Without, within, to eat the substance out.   

The curtains too 'cause they were easily drawn  
To hide their lust, and did upon them fawn,  
Now shrink away: their colour quite doth change  
As being sharers; is't not very strange  
That senseless things, should be ashamed of sin,  
And suffer for't? the moths do now begin,  
To seek revenge, and make of them a prey,  
And are resolved to eat them quite away.  
They do but justice: so do all the rest  
That haunt their ghosts: for they to war are pressed.   

The bed is thought to bear the greatest blame,  
That did with patience underlay the shame:  
The tike complains the feathers are so light,  
As they at noon are so they are at night.  
But they reply, and very well they may  
Confess they're light; but not so light as they;  
They must not chide, being gentle, mild and soft;  
But when they came, 'tis proved they grumbled oft.  
They show a reason why they blame the tick,  
They could not fly out, 'cause it was so thick.   

The cordis questioned; being racked below,  
Begins to yield; what ever it doth know,  
Now blabs it out; receiving many checks,  
'Twould needs be loose to catch them by the necks:  
But being crossed, it cannot vengeance do,  
It swells with malice, till it breaks in two.   

The pillows which did bear their musty pates,  
Do sret with anger, 'cause as coupled mates,  
They gave them ease; but now they do deny it,  
They smell the rot, and do at last defy it.   

The sheets are found more guilty than the rest;  
For why? in them those vermin made their nest:  
Their shame's made open, for the secret sin  
Which they must own; they look both black and thin,  
And fear that penance they must do at Paul's,  
When e'er their partners go to purge their souls.  
(Time eite 'em in; judge, is't not very fit  
For all such persons? shame may teach them wit.)  
They'd turn to many to remove that curse,  
And tie the penance only to the purse.  
If't he not likely to be brought about,  
They'll fee the washer then, to wash them out.  
Shall innocents' thus suffer in their places,  
What they deserve? and quit them from disgraces?   

Nor can I clear the coverlet or quilt,  
From being sharers in this hateful guilt,  
That overlookt them in their cursed delight;  
And was so careless, be it wrong or right:  
'Twas never moved to vex 'em; let its shades  
Dwell still in Newgate, or with Bridewell jades,  
Where shame's in use: the Cutpurse too shall crave it;  
Then let the dunghills cast lots which shall have it!   

The stools, and chairs, when on them they do sit,  
Do trembling fall into an aguish fit;   

The table mourns for bearing of their meat,  
Which feeds their lusts: it's weak, the burden great   

The posts, that did uphold this house so long,  
Begin to sink; if they had but a tongue,  
They'd beg for pardon, promising no more  
To prop such baseness, or defend a whore.  
Sed, sactum est; though now they do abhor it,  
They with the rest are like to suffer for it.  
The ashy worms show justice, ever when  
They have crept through, they creep clean through again,  
Eat out the strength that's seated in the heart,  
Quite past recovery, ' though they feel no smart:  
Sharp execution! 'tis their bawdy hire,  
Just fit for nothing, but for flaming fire.   

The groundsel being tenderhearted stones,  
Do pine away, and change, like dead men's bones:  
And melt with tears: fain would they shrink away,  
But find no passage; so are forced to stay.  
They chide the lime, for holding them together,  
And ha●e the men that first did bring them thither;  
They being sorry (when the cause is tried)  
Shall have this favour, by the highway side,  
They still shall stand, as monuments of shame,  
And shall bewray the place from whence they came.   

But now the door, for being often locked,  
Which made them fearless; being jeered, and mocked,  
Falls in a palsy; open then it flies,  
Calls out in passion, to invite some eyes  
To see their folly; but the hooks were cross:  
She hinges (fearing they should suffer loss)  
Part from the door; the lock is chiefly shent,  
(Being pliable) 'cause it did give consent  
To come and go, with turning of a hand,  
Much like a Pander: and did all withstand  
That would oppose them in this cursed way.  
But then the lock lays blame upon the key,  
For forcing it to whatsoever it did;  
The key had freedom, but the lock was hid.   

The wrangling key pleads, keeping much ado;  
The nails were forced, yet they were guilty too:  
They lose their hold; the hooks, and hinges sever,  
The key is gone; the lock does his endeavour,  
To purchase freedom: th' door as fain would cleave  
In sunder; but, it cannot yet get leave:  
For execution in a worse kind,  
(justice decrees, not long ere he shall find)  
Must be his doom: the lock, hooks, hinges must  
Die with the nails, a lingering death with rust.  
The key's pursued (though it be stepped aside)  
With Argus' eyes, and shall be strictly tried,  
When it is found, as chiefly guilty in't;  
And then this story shall be put in print.   

These hateful Brutes now frighted are away,  
By these extremes; but cannot go by day;  
For Sol disdains to give them any light,  
And they're ashamed to come in people's sight;  
Nay, silent night (though shameless) would not own them,  
They are so vile, had she before not known them.  
Darkness prepares for each a sable coat,  
Ushers them out, unto a place remote,  
Owls tune their organs, as they go along,  
The Screech-owls cries are mixed too among:  
The nimble Bats do frisk along before,  
The Polcat's called, and he brings many more.  
The subtle We sell follows on behind,  
And nightly Beets singing in their kind.  
The Mouse was wished, but would not help to place them;  
Welfare the Rat, he came, but not to grace them.   

Well, gone they are; but whither, who can tell?  
My Muse wants sent to tract them by the smell:  
Nor is it wholesome: yet to clear the score,  
If they amend not, the will tell you more.    

SECT. 35. Of a Country Clown, being cheated with marrying of a whore, etc.  

A Homebred Clown, that had a good estate  
Left by his friends: but overruled by fate,  
Which wrought his woe; but well he did deserve it.  
Read but the story, than you may observe it.   

This silly Clunch did love a handsome Lass,  
Love, did I say? no, but to let that pass,  
'Twas but in show; as afterwards appeared;  
Or loved in jest; in earnest he was jeered.  
She's confident on's love, though fancy tremble,  
She learns to love, and he how to dissemble.  
This Maid had beauty, honesty, and wit,  
And portion that might well become, and fit  
A better man: none of the former three  
Had heat all; so true a Clown was he.  
Her love exceeds; alas! 'tis out of season!  
When love gets head; it is not ruled by reason.  
The match goes on, in time they have agreed it,  
All men conclude, the heavens have decreed it.  
And then the day of marriage is prefixed;  
Her love's entire, but his with falsehood mixed.   

Why she loved him, l'elsay the best I can,  
Because the did; or that he was a man;  
And he had cause to love this lovely Maid;  
But fools want reason: so this fool's betrayed.  
The Sun had looked on him with his power,  
And tanned his skin: his countenance was sour.  
His goggle eyes, and rich enamelled snout,  
His brawny cheeks, his lips, or what's about  
This trunk of treasure, I will not discover:  
But how he wooed in's progress, how this lover  
Obtain'd's desire; and how he was deceived,  
And how he was of all his friends bereaved.   

By accident he came into a place,  
A man of note did show him there such grace,  
He was transported; for he knew not how,  
To carry ' himself, save only at the plow.  
He was not guilty of a jot of breeding,  
But full of flesh; and that he got by seeding.   

He saw an Imp there, (and her face was painted)  
Who was a whore; and for a whore was tainted:  
She was his prospect, and did glut his eyes,  
His mind with surfeits did both fall and rise.  
Sometimes he'll blush, and sometimes have no colour,  
Sometimes he's quick, as quickly he grows duller.  
He walks about, and then sits down and muses,  
Then speaks his mind, but clownish as he uses.   

Zur, ' c have a zecret to make noun to you,  
Pray zhow ma vavor, on I'll tell you true,  
How stonds my case; I c have a wounded hart,  
That's pierced quite through: for Coupid throwed his dare.  
Here is a wench, I think hurbe be his zistur,  
Hur looks dud ravish ma, whon I had kissed hur.  
My heart dud zwell, my head dud fall a aching,  
My eyes mare dazzled, all my limbs stood quaking.  
I coned tell how, my tongue was zilenst quite,  
My honds ware manacled; yet we delight  
I think upon hur; but I cannot rest:  
Had I but hur, oh! how zuld I be blest!  
If hur wool ha'ma, all that ere I have  
Zail be hur joyntur, much I woe not crave,  
Bezides hur loave; warrant I'chave wealth onouffe;  
‛ C have land, on cattle, houze, on houzoed flusse.  
On all things vitting for a country mon.  
Zur, wool you zpeake on help ma hot you con?   

He hears, and ponders, and this lover's tale  
Does take effect: she being grown so stale,  
She stinks to most: but to the Clown her smell,  
Seemed sweet (though rank) and pleased his humour we!   

This Man of note considering this, replied,  
Be not dismayed, thou shalt not be denied,  
If I can steer the helm; put on, and try,  
Perhaps at first (being modest) she'll deny:  
Take no repulse, her love in time will yield;  
When thou hast conquered, triumph in the field,  
She's such a one as nature doth intend  
To make a pattern of; I must commend  
Thy wit, thy choice; her carriage is complete,  
Her breeding's rare, and her behaviour neat:  
Her gifts, her parts do add a comely grace  
To all the rest, her pleasant smiling face  
Doth usher in such glory that the sun  
Is quite ecclip'st before the day be done.  
Her eyes being bright, (the beams with shame return)  
They charm the fire, as't hath no power to burn.  
Why speak I thus, to put a heat to fire?  
Love, must have love; that satisfies desire.  
I'll make the way: jove give thee good success!  
I wish the winged god may do no less!   

Thus having blazed her Fame, what's now agreed  
She was in show; but not at all indeed.  
He never told (in this he much did fail)  
Her body was too heavy for her tail.  
Nor of her painting on her wrinkled face,  
Nor how she was to all her sex disgrace.  
Nor of her living, which was worse than bad,  
Her trading brought in all the means she had.   

Then he unfolds this matter to the whore,  
She tells the bawd; her sister, and before  
They do admit him, they consult about him,  
She'll leave the man, and have his coin without him.   

But then the spokesman vomited his mind:  
Though he's a Clown, yet thou mayst find him kind:  
He'll dote upon thee, let thee take thine ease,  
And go, and come, and do what ere thou please.  
He'll not be jealous, he has not the wit:  
But thou must rule him, and thy humours fit.  
He's rich, and thou shalt always keep his treasure:  
thouart wise enough to use it at thy pleasure.  
Come, be not coy, seeing fortune gives a call,  
And for his faults, know, gold will cover all.  
Take something certain; thou knowst what to do,  
Please but this fool, and keep thy trading too.   

When he was silent, thus the quean began:  
What shall I do? this country Clown, who can  
Affect his person? he so like a fool  
Behaves himself? alas, he should go to school  
Before he seek a wife, and learn some wit  
To make a husband, ere he will be fit  
To know himself; and such as are above him,  
He is so clownish, I shall never love him.  
But if i could be married to his land,  
And leave his person, then I'd give my hand,  
And strike the match, with heart and free consent:  
I live at pleasure, and have full content  
Without control: if he should marry me,  
He'd mue me up: with those that come to see  
My changed condition (how socre I sped)  
I quickly should grasthorne upon his head.  
Your love I tender; but the Clown I hate,  
And think it scorn that he should be my mate.   

With that the bawd grew angry, looking fierce,  
Begins to speak, but cannot well rehearse  
Her mind in words: but when the storm was past,  
Her tongue broke loose, and thus she spoke at last:   

What dost thou flight what love to thee doth proffer?  
Art thou so curious to refuse an offer  
That might enrich thee? I'll not thee importune,  
Thou art not like to have so good a fortune  
If thou refuse him; be not thou so nice;  
If once denied, he may not ask thee twice.  
His clownish carriage, thou mayst help to mend it,  
And cover all his faults, if thou'ltintend it.  
Come, he is wealthy, stand not in thy light:  
The pleasantest day may have a cloudy night.  
Riches bring honour, fortune doth it send,  
What freely comos, thou mayst as freely spend.  
Though he be hidebound, thou mayst make this Clown  
Consormable; and bring his temper down.  
When thou art old, thy custom and thy trade  
Will quite decay; already thou dost fade.  
He'll not mistrust thee, thou mayst take thy time,  
And use thy own whilst thou art in thy prime.  
Say he should think that thou didst do amiss.  
Poor man! he'll wink, or salve it with a kiss!  
If thou shouldst have a man discreet and wise,  
He'd tract thee out; for wisdome's full of eyes.  
If he be poor, his wit will not maintain thee;  
Thou wil● repent; thy friends will all disdain thee.  
Reject him not, although he be a peasant,  
A country life, with wealth, is very pleasant.   

As she concluded, in then came the suitor,  
So brisk, as coming newly from his tutor,  
And kissed them round, as he was taught to do;  
Yet still a clown, and clownishly did woe.  
Thus he began:  
Zweet hart, I loave that, wilt tho be my wife?  
Zay, con tho like a bonny country life?  
I ne'er zaw anee I could loave like thee,  
Nor ever zhall: zhow then zuch loave to me!  
Thine eyes are charms, thy vavor does invite ma,  
Thou hanzome duck! O let thy, oave requite ma!  
Zpeak wolt ta ha'ma? if thou me deny,  
I zhall be zick, on zicknesse makes voke: die.  
I thou't to night'chad bad that in mine arms,  
But whon I work, I ch'was bewitched we charms.  
I do embrace though oton in my dreams,  
But tan I vinde'tis nothing but extremes  
Of loave, and veare, of hope, on passions mixed,  
which genders grief; dezpaire ztonds us betwixt.  
O pity ma, and caze ma of me zmart!  
Tho hast abawme would cure my wounded hart:  
My wealth, my goods, on whotzoere I ha',  
Sholl be thine own, come, do no zay ma na.  
This crafty slut knows how to make her game,  
She'd seem to blush, but that she wanteth sharce.  
She screws him up unto a higher pin  
With silence and delays: now she'll begin  
To speak her mind; Kind sir, I must be bold  
To breathe a doubt, your love's too hot to hold:  
Nor am I willing my estate to change;  
This thing called love, to me was ever strange:  
Nor can I brook a silent country life,  
I'm far unfit to make a Farmer's wife:  
I cannot toil, bake, brew, nor serve your swine,  
Nor trudge to market, no, nor milk your kine;  
Nor such like things, which suits not with my breeding;  
But where you woo, I'd have you go a speeding.  
And for your love I thank you, and am sorry  
You dream of joy; but waking spoils the story.  
If you are sick, alas! you must endure it!  
'Tis not my fault, not have I balm to cure it.  
What's wealth? much care a mar edlife doth bring;  
I'll ne'er submit to such a foolish thing.  
You loved another, let her be our bride,  
And so adieu, good fortune be your guide.  
So slunk away.   

With that in haste he turned himself about  
To view the passage; which way she went out  
He could not find, but changed like a ghost:  
His mind perplexed, his spirit sunk almost!  
His heart in pieces now is like to break;  
He swells with grief, so that he cannot speak:  
Thus he continued, though a little season,  
Yet in that time sense robbed him of his reason.   

But she relates his wooing all this while;  
And how she answered, made them all to smile;  
For they agreed that she should only try him,  
To prise her more, not that she should deny him,  
For fear he'd change, and never more to crave her;  
For well they knew none but a fool would have her  
Then in they came to comfort up his heart,  
But she was absent (that did breed the smart)  
In policy, which made him grieve the more,  
But she to listen stood behind the door;  
She'd see th'event; her frowns did speak his doom  
If she appeared she was a living tomb!   

But she was called, the matter was debated,  
How he loved her, why he of her was hated.  
They urged her to't, fain they would have her married;  
She now resolved, but presently she varied.  
But to be short, they'd not have him deluded,  
They joined their hands, the match is now concluded.   

But now to show how he embraced his choice,  
'Twould make you laugh; and how he did rejoice;  
What he appointed for the marriage day,  
('Twas thought the savour did his love bewray)  
How he directed. Going plodding out  
To tell his fortune, as he looked about,  
He spied the maid that loved him, told the story  
Of this great match, and the intended glory  
He'd have at's wedding; how five hundred pound  
He had in promise (but not one was bound  
To see it paid in money) nor a jot  
I fear will ever fall unto his lot!   

This harmless soul, in hearing this, replied,  
Falsehearted man! with grief her tongue was tied,  
She spoke no more; her eyes dropped silent tears,  
Her colour changed, her mind's distressed with fears!  
Her heart was swelled, it would dissolve, but when  
It sent out tears, grief called them back again!  
Sometimes hot fevers seemed to take fast hold,  
Then frosty agues made her shake with cold!  
Sometimes the spring spreads beauty on her face,  
Then comes the autumn which doth it disgrace!  
Time gave her respite to renew her strength;  
The clouds blew over, thus she spoke at length.   

What is truth banitht? or is she asleep?  
Is faith in mortgage, that thou wilt not keep  
Thy promise made? will conscience pass for coin?  
Death is corrival of this heart of mine!  
My heart is breaking, but it grieves not thee,  
Forwhy? thou bring'st me to this misery!  
Now, now, thou leav'st me, and thou break'st thy vow,  
Which God nor Nature ever did allow;  
To cleave to one that is to thee a stranger;  
Thou dost my welfare and thy soul endanger.  
In wronging me thou dost thyself no right;  
Take heed, I fear she is a grain too light.  
She's coached with gallants up and down the street,  
Judge then the rest, and show thyself discreet,  
To doubt the worst. Why, do I spend my breath,  
But for my Bridegroom, constant, gentle death?   

Then down she sunk, as if the day were come  
To solemnize the wedding in her tomb!  
The worms her guests; they modestly will keep  
Their watch, while she doth with her bridegroom sleep?   

But raising up her breath, as from the ground,  
She then revived, for it was but a swound.  
Then spoke this clown, 'twas all the wit he had;   

Hot ails theiz fool? Hot art ta turning mad?  
Or dost dizemble? I wool not believe that,  
Not I, but loss of hot I ha' do grieve that.  
Dud I make promosse to tha? woe dud hear it?  
Come, do thy worst, na troth I woe not veare it.  
I thave a zweet heart, though thou zaist hur's light,  
Hur ulesh is vast, hur's high on big; thy spite  
Breaks out against hur, vor thy noze do zwell:  
Hur's vaire, of Cowpids' kin, I leek hur well.  
Hur's handsome, young, well bred, on monstr us witty,  
there's ne'er a viner wench in all this zitty.  
A great huge potion: god omighty zent hur.  
I love hur mainly, on I zball content hur,  
With money, gouds, and londs, with pigs, on kine,  
My zelf on all: I c have hur hart, z'has mine.  
I chom o happy mon: hot ere thou zay.  
Thus having spewed his mind, he runs away.   

Poor tortured Virgin! how art thou cast down?  
Grieve not to leave this false hardhearted Clown.  
Thou lov'dst too soon, too much, and out of season,  
Call home thy love, let sense be ruled by reason:  
Submit to what the heavens do decree,  
Which have in store a better a ache for thee.  
Thy heart's so bruised it bleeds with inward pain;  
But gentle time will make it whole again.  
For better objects keep thy love in store,  
Thou shalt be blest; he vexed with a Whore.   

But now my Muse, for pleading on thy side  
Will lose the love o'the Bridegroom, and the Bride:  
She weighs it not, nor will the flatter any;  
She hates a bribe, and knows a fool from many.   

Now they prepare against the wedding day;  
(Though not invited) she intends to stay  
To see the service in a corner by:  
She'll view the couple: now the time is nigh,  
Allthings are bought, both of them rich apparelled,  
But coin was wanting, and the Tailor quarrelled,  
Now they are married.   

To show the manner of this solemn feast,  
The butcher's meat, the fowl, and how 'twas dressed;  
Or name the guests, or those that did attend them,  
What was their own, or what their friends did lend the,  
What choice of wine, his waiting on the Bride,  
What cost this feast, what paid for sauce beside,  
I'll not relate it, 'tis too long a story:  
Blame not my Muse, she's not a grave for glory.   

But having dined, he said his father's grace,  
And prayed the Sun to drive away apace,  
And whip the steeds with fury to the West,  
For in his sight but half could he be blest.  
His spirits moved him Morpheus to invite  
To spread his cloud, and haste to bring on night.  
Black night being come, he went with's Bride to bed;  
He had his wish, but not her maidenhead.  
My Muse left them, t'enjoy what from love sprung,  
For she was modest, and she lost her tongue.   

Their nightly pleasures smoothly glide away,  
And night is forced to give place to the day.  
Her tongue's restored to show their grief o'th'morrow,  
Exchanged with joy, unto the Bridegrooms sorrow!  
What he took up on ticket, or the score,  
For this great feast, and what he owed before,  
Must now be paid; he cannot well deny it;  
His marriage coin, he can as ill come by it;  
Yet safe enough, for it is out at use;  
(So forawhile this was his chief excuse)  
Where, no man's knows, nor when it shall be paid,  
The bond is cancelled, or it is mislaid.  
He was deferred, (it was a cruel spite)  
Until Doomsday, at six a clock at night.   

His Creditors (as Bees about a hive)  
Do haunt him still, nor is he like to thrive;  
His costly mistress keeps him low and bare,  
Which makes this clown run almost mad with care.  
His spokes-mate, or the pander doth find out  
Where's money to be lent; 'tis brought about  
That he shall have it; for it, all are bound,  
But when us paid, he only can be found:  
The other are Nonresidents; their trust  
Is to deceive. But pay it in he must;  
For they'll be gone (for this they must have fees)  
Bats have their holes, and Owls have hollow trees.   

But having took their pleasures here a while,  
The tide runs low, for time doth them beguile:  
Down in the Country they do haste away,  
'Tis time, for here it is too hot to stay.  
They take their leaves; the farewell of this whore,  
Made him an Ox, that was an Ass before.   

Away they went; their welcome was but small,  
Their comfort cold, as good as none at all.  
His friends had heard how he cast off the Maid  
That loved him and was by a whore betrayed;  
How he had spent his means, and was in debt,  
How he was gulled, and how at first they met:  
All their proceedings, how she promised large,  
How 'twas deferred, and how he bore the charge  
Of all their feasts: his mother first 'twas spied them:  
Course entertainment! she began to chide them!  
What hast thou done? thou fool! hast sold for nought  
Thyself, thy fortunes, that thou here hast brought  
A noted quean? take her away with thee;  
I'll never harbour her: if thou canst see,  
Go read thy folly. Shall thy father's name  
Die in disgrace? or live in open shame?  
What! bring a whore? go, I will never own thee  
To be my child; all hate thee that have known the?   

They were perplexed, this unexpected change  
Gives foul affront: the salutation's strange.  
Then went he to a sister that he had,  
(A married wife) and there they sped as bad.  
It was so noised up and down the town,  
That Simpleton had brought a Hakney down.  
No comfort there (his friends were turned his foes)  
Nor any where: then back again he goes,  
Filled with displeasure: yet of none lamented;  
Grief joins with care; he's now grown discontented;  
He lives retired, fast bound unto his cross;  
He thought to win, but he comes off with loss.   

Now, he perceiving how the game doth go  
Still more against him: feign he'd breathe his woe,  
But brinish tears prevent him: to the smart  
He must be tied, which cuts him to the heart.  
Nor help, nor ease, nor succour, nor relief  
The earth affords, to mitigate his grief.  
His Doxy now he cannot well digest,  
She cloys his stomach that he cannot rest.  
To ease himself by thinking of a change,  
'Tis but in vain: his case is very strange!  
And finding his estate consume so fast,  
He's quite disgraced, his parts fall out at last.    

SECT. 36. The disagreements of his members and faculties.  

HE, all amort, was walking in the street,  
His legs, they took exceptions at his feet,  
For being forward in this heinous fact,  
They are adjudged, and censured for the act:  
'T was proved they strived which first should keep his time,  
And both are equal guilty of the crime.   

But then the legs as guilty are accused,  
They bore the rest, and let them be abused;  
Yet still were silent; nay, they did uphold  
The faction too: and being stout and bold,  
They would not yield; but ever trudged apare,  
With hasto to bring their Master to disgrace:  
And yet too flow: for when this jade did sit  
near unto him, they would not stir a whit.  
They were submissive always in her sight:  
They'd bow to grace her, seldom stand upright.  
They're doomed, through stiffness, not to bow at all;  
Or else with faintness, if they bow, to fall.   

They blame the knees, which first did bring them to it,  
They'd quickly bend, and force the legs to do it:  
For temporising, turning every way,  
And flattr'ing him, although he went astray:  
Yet true to her, for they would never fail,  
But still with patience bear her stinking—   

They take distaste, and lay it to the thighs,  
Pleading, by them they were deceived with lies,  
They being strong, the other being weak,  
Persuaded were; their friendship thus did break,  
And fall to strife. The hips are faulty too,  
For being acquainted when he did her woo:  
They soon agreed, that they should make a match;  
It plainly shows that they did mischief hatch.  
They're sentenced all; the hips, the thighs, the knees  
Must now consume; the flesh must by degrees  
Waste from the bones; the bones a drying lay,  
The sinews shrink, yet cannot shrink away.   

The news of this would fright away the marrow,  
But't cannot run, the passage is to narrow.  
What near adjoins, I would not have it named,  
The cause is foul, that all would be ashamed  
To hear it pleaded; let it silentlye.  
But let the reins come answer here what I  
Lay to its charge; it ever bred that fire,  
Which gendered shame, and stirred up vile desire:  
It moved to ill, and fed that lustful stream,  
And rocked this wretch into a golden dream:  
And ready was to usher in all lust,  
Provoking him; and did betray the trust  
It had in charge: and took occasion still  
How to bewitch him, yielding to his will.  
So shameless; it was never known to fear her,  
But did rejoice, when ever it came near her:  
The censure's sharp; the gangrene and the gout  
Must search the sore, and eat the matter out.   

The back, for joining close unto this part,  
Assisting it, is like to feel the smart:  
Th'back blames the belly, that it made it strong,  
Receiving food, which did maintain it long  
In all this business: pamp'ring was the reason,  
That it did further, or conceal the treason.  
The belly finding, how it was back-bited,  
For all its kindness to the back: how slighted:  
Began to grumble: and would hold no meat,  
But still grew angry, when the jaws did eat.  
You'd think him blameless, and might well be quitted;  
But he is guilty, and must not be pitied,  
Maintaining all against his Master's cause;  
And is condemned according to the Laws.   

Then next appears the liver, and the lungs,  
They'd shift it off; but, for apparent wrongs,  
Who can excuse them? th' lungs are chiefly shent,  
For they did move to further his intent,  
By fanning breath: the liver kept the blood,  
Which nourished vice, which might have been a flood,  
To drown his lust: consumption is their lot,  
For this offence: the bowels they must rot,  
For being false, and joining on their side:  
It was a cheat, it cannot be denied.   

These bend their envy all against the heart,  
He is delinquent; and must bear a part  
Of misery: for it was false before  
To one of worth: but constant to this whore:  
And was so soft, that it would swell, and melt,  
And in her presence still high passions felt,  
With strength of lust; It must despairinglye,  
To see all doomed: that last of all must die.  
Death, Sergeant-like, must strain upon his breath:  
If'twill not yield, it must be pressed to death.   

The arms are bound to answer to the charge  
That's brought against them; for they did at large  
Spread out themselves; still willing to embrace her;  
They might have closed; but would not once disgrace her.  
'Twas treachery; and yet they did agree,  
To make a snare, brought him to misery.  
They answer not, for each distracted stands:  
But yet at last, they lay it to the hands,  
That drew them to so foul a thing as this;  
They seemed to grieve, that e'er they did amiss.  
The hands did hold her often while he kissed her:  
And were like lime-twigs; else he might have missed her.  
They were like pulleys; holding would not fade;  
Nor would they lose, until the match was made.   

The arms, the hands must suffer all together,  
Hang down they must; the blasts & storms of weather  
Must show them justice; all the time they have  
Now to repent, 'tis but to scratch a grave.   

They blame the head (there all the senses dwell)  
That gave consent; 'tis clear it was not well  
To overlook, and yet to be so rash,  
To gull him with such stuff, and musty trash.  
The brains had chiefly paid for't very dear;  
But 'twas not not known that he had any there.   

But then they tax the noddle, and the scull  
For covering all the plot, though he was dull,  
And let things pass at randam: never thought  
On't till his master gave himself for naught.  
The punishment doth fall upon the hair,  
That moults away (the scull behind's left bare,)  
For lying still, it neverstood upright;  
Nor summoned fear when this hag came in sight.   

The ears that did receive all false reports,  
And keep out true, were tickled with such sports,  
And surfeited in hearing of her praised;  
Till she was won, the siege was never raised.  
They're bound to hear his ruin, and withal  
To bear a share; than not to hear atall.  
The nose mistook; it could not smell the rot,  
But all seemed sweet; now stinking is its lot  
For that offence; the eyes are hated more;  
They spied her first, and ever went before,  
To usher in the rest with much delight;  
But they were dim when she was out of sight:  
And did connive her faults; her painted face,  
With what was ill, they counted as a grace.  
They were the spies to watch and bring in News,  
Be they're so false; the heart they did abuse  
With misconceits; they were feoffees in trust,  
Ill overseers! drawn away with lust!  
They did dissemble; any one would think  
They closed with sleep, when as they did but wink.  
They'd never rest till they had brought about  
This fond attempt: all this is out of doubt.  
The judgement's past: they must be drowned in tears  
In open view, that he that sees, or hears,  
May warning take: then dimness must o'er take them,  
And by degrees their sight shall clean forsake them.  
When fruit is gone, than leaves shall stay behind  
To show the reason why the eyes grew blind.   

The tongue is deeply guilty in this case,  
For flattering first, and then to be as base  
To give deny all to that maid, t'whome he  
Had been engaged: 'twas plain hypocrisy.  
By it the secrets of the heart were broken,  
Had it not been for this, none would have spoken.  
It blabbed abroad what ever it did find,  
Though ne'er so closely seated in the mind.  
Such was its force, it might have all controlled,  
And broke the match, if't had been wise and bold.  
It made the motion: then the rest about it  
Did yield: the match could not be made without it.  
No art but this (he never went to school)  
He'ad learned to sell his master for a fools.  
He's sentenced public to confess the crime;  
Then to be silenced for a little time.  
And when he speaks, to falter in his tale,  
Imprisoned I, than not capable of bale.  
The fault's so great: being bound unto the peace,  
His jaw's the grates: but if it get release,  
It speaks true nonsense, that's the legal sum:  
Then grief, and shame at last must strike him dumb.   

But now the chaps, for opening at a beck,  
And let him prate at randam without check,  
(The teeth did snarl, and bite flesh guiltless, long,  
Yet for this fault ne'er snarled nor bit the tongue.)  
(They were confederates) there fore 'twas no wonder  
The chaps must fall; the teeth shall drop in sunder.  
Nor is the throat found innocent: for why?  
The voice had freedom, thought ne'er did deny  
The breath a passage; sounding out the note.  
Rough, hot, and dries the censure of the throat.  
There was a sine laid on the subtle breath,  
Sentence adjourned until the day of death.   

Now all the members, feeling smart, are grieved;  
They cast a plot (in vain to be relieved)  
Against the intellectuals; malice breaks:  
The heart indites, and every member speaks;  
And plead, they governed them, and ever when  
They moved them, 'twas as Devils move in men.  
They could not stir, nor bring forth such events,  
But still were forced, and used as instruments.  
All that they did, was by the livened soul  
Devised, and acted; who did all control.  
This is in justice! can it equal be,  
That we should suffer? and the soul go free?  
Search out the cause: is it not very fit  
Those parts should suffer, and we should be quit?   

The Understanding 'tis, that's first arraigned;  
The charge is heavy; for they all complained,  
How he deceived them: never tried the case,  
But gave consent that Will should take his place:  
Which, like a Tyrant, quite suspended Reason,  
It might more freely plot and work this treason.  
What he propounded, all must yield unto it:  
Or else must suffer, if they would not do it.  
Be't ne'er so bad, none must dispute the cause,  
The Will will stand, and cross all humane Laws.  
All's currant coin; what e'er it did erect,  
To choose this whore, the other did reject.  
It made the match, and every thing's done by it;  
This is not envy, nor do I belie it.   

Th'affections, like to pages, fore-most run,  
That should be hindmost: having ill begun,  
As ill drive on: with haste they turn to passion,  
And roving bring the members out of fashion.  
They slight, and hate, where they should truly love;  
And love amiss; stand still, when they should move.  
Lust steers the course, the compasse-rule is Sense,  
Conceit's the Pilot; no man knows from whence  
These Furies come, nor whither they are bound:  
Though they are outlawed, they are ever found  
Most busy, with the rest, to all that's evil;  
As if they had their lerry from the Devil.   

Their censure is; the understanding's lost;  
Or by the Will it shall be ever crossed  
In all designs; and carried like a slave,  
And be a vassal, nor can freedom have.   

The Will for so inttenching on that part,  
Against its will, must undergo the smart,  
To be imprisoned: neverto be free;  
To do, or not to do; 'tis misery  
To be so servile! yet here's no remorse!  
Though't will not bend, yet this will break its force.   

Th'affections lose their strength, nor can they taste  
What's good, or bad, the senses are laid waste:  
Or if they move, it is not like that ever  
They should attain to what they do endever.   

Thus parts, and members in their kinds are fitted;  
With shifts or plead none of them are quitted.  
With one consent condemned as they stand,  
They beg reprieve, and blame the guilty land.  
They make it plain (but if he hear't 'twill mad him)  
That was the cause, or else she had not had him.  
He could not move her, till he brought in that:  
All lean conceits! he took her with the fat:  
That did the decd; and promised more contents  
Than he, or all his clownish compliments.   

It is decreed that some must mortgaged be  
To pay his debts, the others that are free,  
The Usurer shall tie them by a band,  
Which forfeited, he'll strain upon the land.  
The feeling Lawyer too, must have a share  
ere all be gone. This emblem of true care,  
When all is spent, can he live on the rest?  
His hope dies first; for warning 'tis express.    

SECT. 37. Of a handsome cunning Whore, that had the Pox, and how she deceived her husband; and how she died.  

A Citizen, who had deserved Fame,  
(His honest dealing raised up his name.)  
The world did smile upon him: he was blest  
With wealth, with credit, and above the rest  
He prized his wife; her carriage seemed so sweet,  
So full of beauty! and her words discreet!  
So free from choler! she was mild, but witty;  
In all appearance, none in all the City  
Was more complete; but see, such was his Fate!  
None in the land, was more unfortunate!  
Though she was fair, mild, young, and seeming wise,  
Her heart was false; her husband in her eyes,  
Was undervalued; she was fraught with cvill.  
Her outside's fair; her inside's like a Devil.   

'Tis strange dame Nature should be so o'er seen  
To give a beauty fitting for a Queen,  
And keep all virtue back: can she dissemble  
Her dowry thus? 't may make all beauties tremble?  
Or is she moved with spleen? or to enthrall  
The Fair? then dame, give virtue none at all.  
Or is she blind, to think it is her duty  
To give some virtue, and the other beauty?  
O, part them not! how sweetly would they shine  
Both being mixed! how lovely, how divine  
Will be the lustre! are the best exempted  
From beauty, 'cause she's loath to have them tempted?  
Or does she work by owl-light? or has she  
Sworn virtue plainly to deformity?  
Or vice to beauty? keep them in some place,  
Or vice will rob true virtue of her grace.   

Here I could lose myself; but I must turn  
Unto the Whore; now she with lust dothburne,  
And takes her time to walk about the street;  
If any lecher does this Harlot meet,  
Few words will serve; she'll quickly give consent,  
Those ways of darkness, give this whore content.  
Nor does she stand upon't, though she be sine,  
And he but bare; nor does she trade for coin;  
She wants not gold, or any thing beside.  
But in a while she was so Frenchifide,  
That hungry Gall had seized upon her flesh,  
Her colour's pale, that formerly was fresh:  
And through her flesh it gnaws upon her bones.   

She to her husband in these mourning tones  
Expressed her mind; alas! I am not well?  
My flesh is sore, the Doctors cannot tell  
What is the cause: my bones do ache, my hairs  
Is grown so sad, poor I do feel the smart!  
I fear a deep consumption has possessed  
My vital spirits, in my grieved breast!  
I'm melancholy, keeping so within,  
I seldom go abroad to see my kin.  
I dote upon a husband, too too much;  
I cannot choose, alas! my love is such!  
You do not care if death should take my life;  
Then farewell Peg! you'd have another wife  
Within a month. I cannot long remain,  
Unless I have a cure for my pain.  
The Bath, I understand, is very good,  
To ease my griping pain, and purge my blood.  
If any thing, 'tis only that can do it,  
If you'll consent that I shall go unto it.   

This honest loving man, did ne'er distrust  
She had the cankers that was bred of lust.  
No spark of jealousy possessed his mind,  
(Say, is't a gift, that Cuckolds are most kind?)  
He thought her virtuous, she to him did pass  
For every thing, save only what she was.  
And thus he answered her.   

How am I grieved for thee, my dearest Love!  
Thy pain is mine how do my bowels move?  
And melt with true compassion! and my heart  
Is swelled with sorrow! oh! the hidden smart  
That's gendered in my breast! my tears are bend,  
To pant it out; but grief affords no vent!  
Thy words do overcharge me, so that I  
Am like to sink! my joy with thee will die!  
What's all I have to thee? what's my endeavour?  
Thy life, thy death will make, or matre me ever.  
O! cruel pity! shall I have delight  
So short a time! will Fortune show her spite?  
And rob me of my love? thou art divine,  
Flesh cannot long keep such a soul as thine!  
The Angels envy earth, for they will come,  
And fetch thy soul; and Fame will make thy tomb,  
As lasting as thy praise. How do I call  
My Genius up to pity this my fall!  
O! let me yet enjoy thee! and I will  
'Slight all things else, but glory in thee still.   

Go to the Bath, here's gold and money store;  
If thou gainest health, I never shall be poor.   

He would have went himself, or sent his man,  
But she replied, no; do the best you can,  
Look to the main; expenses will be large;  
I'll go alone, and that will case your charge.  
Good company are always going down;  
And if you will but bring me out of town,  
I ask no more: but pay the Coachman's fee,  
And he will take an honest care of me.   

She's coached, and gone; but he is discontent:  
And these good wishes after her he sent:   

Let that swift Mover, that overlooks the sky,  
Move gently now; and let the runners by  
Smile sweetly on her! Sol, give her thy grace!  
Although she has more beauty in her face,  
Than thou hast in thy prime. When stars have gazed  
Upon her beauty, let them all amazed,  
Yield her the praises! let the spheres below  
Melt with desire, when once they do her known.  
But never prate, or tell the horned Moon,  
She eclipsed the beauty of the Sun at noon  
Lest she should hide her face, with envy spite her.  
And flinck behind a Cloud, when she should light her.  
And let the wanton air be so discreet,  
Not steal her breath away to make it sweet.  
But let the earth boast (rising one degree,)  
For bearing such a lovely saint as she!  
Let not the plants with emulation strive!  
Or swell with lust, wish to be sensitive!  
Put let the flying choir learn how to sing:  
Her Odes, her Eulogies! I'll imp the wing  
Of him that sings it best; as they begun,  
So let their discords into Concord's run.   

How can the horses drawing her along,  
But march in state! let them though they are strong,  
Obey her words: yet let'em take such pride  
Not to draw coaches by the high way side,  
Like hackneys any more: but serve some Lord,  
(Their worth will then be known) that will afford  
Them better keeping. Let the Coach still rest;  
'T has done enough in carrying such a guest.  
And let the Coachman, though he be a Clown,  
('Cause by his care he carried her safely down)  
Be raised to such preferment, that he may  
Find by experience what a happy day  
It was to him! let low conceits no more  
Take up his mind: he never had before  
Such credit in a journey; such a bliss!  
Oh! how he triumphs that he happed on this!   

Oh! if the Bath can once but give her case,  
And ground of hope, to cure her strange disease,  
(Though I am absent, yet'twil'swage my pain)  
And winged time, but bring her safe again,  
How happy shall I be! these thoughts do give  
Such sweet impressions that my heart doth live.  
Come home my joy, and banish hence my fear!  
I dreamed to night, and thought I had thee here.   

This slut being at the Bath, finds no relief:  
(It never cured such a desperate grief)  
She thought some villain that was young and fresh,  
Would have embraced her care'on rotten flesh,  
And covered shame with sin. Oh! hateful thought!  
Nay, for her money she would fain have bought  
A sin at second hand. Hell's not agreed  
To bring a patron for so foul a deed.  
All judged for fowl: such Imps are seeming-wise,  
Her face wants colour, nose, lips, teeth, and eyes  
Betrayed her hopes; some had much money spent her,  
The P: did fright'em and they would not venture.   

She's fowl returned, newly from the Bath;  
And talks of going home, but missed the path:  
Yet she's contented (though she knows 'tis wrong)  
The bawdy-house where she at first was stung,  
Did entertain her: they'ad renewed their store;  
The spirits were gone, that haunted there before:  
The gall: or empty purses drew them thence,  
And now this whore hopes for a recompense.  
Her face was painted fresh, and she was bold;  
she'd rich attire, and she was full of gold.   

At last a Novice coming newly in,  
On purpose to commit this cursed sin,  
(The Devil having stole him from his Master)  
He pays his entrance; and he'll be a taster  
Of blasted pleasures: when this whore had spied him,  
She cast out jests, and smiles; the more she eyed him,  
The more she liked him; (thought she) this's the man  
That must free me from shame, if any can.  
She held him in discourse, and found his mind:  
Then he rejoicing that she was so kind,  
Grew impudent; being taken with her sight,  
Yet fears to speed, because his purse was light.   

When she perceived it, than she gave him gold,  
And what he loved, she wished him to be bold,  
And call for'tin; they supped with dainty fare:  
All sorts of wine they had; nor did they spare  
For any cost; this Novice did exceed:  
His seeming heaven proved a hell indeed.  
They having supped, to bed they went together;  
He thought good fortune did direct him thither.  
She blest herself, and thought by this endeavour,  
She should be cured of her shame for ever.   

These varlets lay more ground work for their sorrow,  
My modest Muse will come again to morrow.   

The night they spent in lust: but when they spied  
The mome begin to dim bold Cynthia's pride:  
They must be gone, sear called him first away,  
And Chanticleer the trumpeter of day  
Sounds out alarm, he wished again the moon  
But cursed the day, because it came so soon.  
Why dost thou bring this bold audacious light  
Within this room to fright away the night?  
Must I, must I be subject unto thee?  
Th' unwelcomst guest, that ever came to me!  
Thou art a tell-tale, and a makebate too:  
Why comest thou, but to spy what we here do?  
Go back again, thy shining visage shroud  
In some close cell, or else behind a cloud:  
Stay there a while, that I may have my ends:  
(A small request) and then we will be friends.   

But light's impartial, finding things uneven,  
Reveals the truth, because it came from heaven.  
Ere they do part, they point both time and place,  
To meet again, he thought it such a grace  
To be esteemed as worthy of her love:  
He thought the gods had sent her from above.  
Now home she's gone: for me to show what cheers  
He did provide, to welcome home his dear;  
How he embraced her, how he did rejoice,  
And how he praised his fortune in his choice;  
How they discoursed of what she did endure,  
And how he pitied her, and of the cure  
Of her unknown, and dangerous disease,  
How he revived, and how his heart had ease,  
And how he praised the Bath, and was content  
With all the charge, and money that she spent,  
And how he gave her more; I need not show it:  
Nor is't to any purpose if you know it.   

Within three days, the time was come about,  
He at her garden house does find her out.  
Five pound in gold she gave him; yet was she  
In debt to him for his last courtesy.  
He mused at this! yet thought it was to gain him;  
she'd costly fare besides to entertain him.  
Such queans as this, do make the air stink,  
And crush their husbands till they make 'em sink.   

This codshead then rejoyct, thinks all is well,  
But yetere long, he felt his members swell:  
His bowels ache, such griping in his bones,  
That all his language was expressed in groans:  
His colour changed, the dimness of his eye  
With's filtering speech you might his grief descry.  
Then to a Doctor went he, for a Drench,  
Who asked him where he met that pocky wench  
That had so paid him? but he'd not reveal her,  
She made him swear, that he should still conceal her.  
He to his mistress did his grief discover,  
Who told him that she'd be his constant lover,  
And gave him gold; but at another time  
She brought him fifty pounds; (this fills my rhyme;)  
And told him, that she'd make her purse strings crack;  
Although her husband did, he should not lack.  
Five hundred pounds, said she, I will provide  
(Against thy time is out) for thee beside.  
But he refused the proffered fifty pound,  
Lest he should in a golden stream be drowned.  
But he must keep it, till that he had need;  
And so they parted, being both agreed.   

She long continued in this shameful course  
(Before she was found out) wtthout remorse,  
She desp'ratly her husband's goods did spend;  
Her time, her strength unto a hateful end:  
Although it was perceived how she did fall,  
Her husband would not see't; love covered all;  
But more and more, her vileness did break out;  
Her sin, her shame, fame had so spread about,  
H'was forced to hear, and see; his heart did say,  
Come quickly death, and take my life away!  
How am I crossed in my chief delight!  
Come, come and hide me, with the shades of night  
'Tis but a boon to take away my breath:  
The life I have is but a living death.  
More had he spoke, but passion was too strong;  
Tears made him blind, and grief attached his tongue.  
This cunning strumpet in her craft is caught,  
And now she finds that sinful pleasures naught.  
Her old disease consents to quit the score:  
Then down she falls, and leaves her husband poor.   

Her Epitaph.  
HEre's painted vice that did deceive the world,  
Her lust had caused cankers in her throat;  
She died upon't; and in this grave was hurled.  
By this you know she was a whore of note:  
'Cause she was light, and full of wanton mirth,  
She's closed about with heavy-hearled earth.    

SECT. 38. Observations from histories, of lascivious persons, but chiefly from the collection of Cornelius Agrippa: abridged now for this purpose.  
De vanitate Scientiarum.  

NOt only now, but in the ancient times  
Whores have been common; and those loathson crimes  
Have been esteemed; the Egyptians did devise  
With show of worship, how to sacrifice  
To Priapus; and Rome did still allow  
Of Brothel houses: may not we see how  
The shaveling Priests, lean Friars, fat-back Monks,  
Did join their dwellings near the filthy punks?  
Houses of Nuns are often private Stews  
For common harlots; they devotion use  
To shelter sin; and hooded Monks, and Friars  
May match the worst, that are lascivious liars.  
Heathens did think, 'twas policy in state  
To suffer whores; great Solon did create  
A law to quit them; Apollo in those ages  
Did reck on him one of the seven Sages:  
'tis proved by Philemon, and Menander,  
('Tis strange a man so wise should prove a Pander)  
Young men might have their harlots: he first did  
Erect that Temple (where such queans were hid)  
To wanton Venus; they were prized in Greece,  
They without fear, their customers might fleece.  
When Perses Realm began much to decay,  
In Venus' Temple they were set to pray.   

In Corinth they did use that very thing:  
And Ephesus of infamy did ring:  
For fair whores, they did raise up sumptuous building,  
And praised Venus, when they find yielding.   

Wise Aristotle had a great esteem  
Of common strumpets; he by sense did deem  
Them fit for honour; he did so much prise  
His Hermia, and Ceres; sacrifice.  
He offered to'em. Venus was the first  
That used this art in Cyprus; many durst  
By her persuasions, to commit this sin,  
Yet she must be a goddess. Hell broke in  
Then unresisted: Maids did go astray  
By custom still, before their marriage day,  
To gain a dowry: but they gave a see  
To Venus first of their Virginity.   

The Babylonians did allow, that all  
That were decayed in goods, or were in thrall,  
Should give their daughters to the will of those  
(What ere they were, or be they friends, or foes)  
That would relieve them; for Aspasia's sake,  
Pericles did great battles undertake.   

Lampridus saith, an Emperor of Rome  
Did keeps a house of whores, when's friends did come  
Unto his feast, he'd make'em freely eat,  
(What he provided, was provoking meat)  
According to the number of their dishes,  
So were their whores; they're bound to reap their wishes.  
For bawds, and whores, so much he did esteem them,  
That he from death, end prison would redeem them,  
He called them soldiers; and he gave them pay:  
But chiefly when he found them at the play,  
He'd show his bounty: she that loved the art,  
And was most skilful, did possess his heart;  
And any Mattons' that did love the pleasure,  
He'd free'em for't, 2nd pay'em from his treasure.  
Cirena, in this way did all excel,  
She was surnamed the gulf of lust, or hell.   

Proculus did deflower in one night  
Ten fair sweet Virgins; with his cursed might  
In fifteen days, a hundred he did force:  
This Lord of Pluto's never had remorse.   

The Poets fain that Hercules did more,  
H'of fifty maids made every one a whore  
Within a night. Sapph is guilty too,  
(A Poetresse) cause she did Phaon woo.   

Metrodus concubine, her wit did bend  
In writing books, her whoredom to defend.  
Leenath ' Athenian, would not name her friend,  
Though tortuted on a rack her life did end.  
I wonder hell should such a temper give!  
To save another she denies to live.  
Rhodope that famous Quean did get so much  
(A thriving whore! time found not any such)  
As built a Pyramid (in dust she's hurled:)  
That still abides a wonder in the world.  
Thais would never trade (that fair faced beast)  
Except with Kings, or Princes at the least.  
But Messalina (being an Emp'rours' wife)  
Esteemed her lust as precious as her life.  
In Stews she did the rankest whores exceed,  
Though strength did fail, desires still did breed.   

What need I speak of Joan, the Naples Qucene?  
Or other Gallants, that would sin unseen?  
Or of fair julia? or that Monarch's lust?  
Or Pasiphae? and how the plague was just?  
How many great oncs were by such means got?  
How some were cooled with curses, when th'were hot?  
How Kings have left their Queens? how diverse more  
Have been bewitched, disgraced, undone, made poor?  
What looks, and gestures, words, and hot embraces,  
Bold strumpets use? you'll find them in their places.  
Lais the whore, was praised by Shafalus,  
And Nais extolled by Alcidanus.   

Most of the ancient Poets (more or less)  
Did wanton folly in their songs express.  
But Ovid more, to his Corinna writes  
The praise of lust: more sully he indites  
I'th' Art of love (or else the whorish Art)  
To paint out whoredom; strumpets had his heart.  
In other things do his wit applaud;  
But yet in this, what was he but a Bawd?  
Octavius for it banisnt him from Rome;  
Let bawdy Poets here have such a doom!  
Such poy soned pamphlets heretofore were burned;  
And all the Authors out of favour turned.   

Let Masters banish them out of their schools,  
Lest they corrupt the youth, make them prove fools,  
The learned Plato, from the Commonwealth  
Did drive such sinners; 'tis against the health  
Of nations, persons; Rome sometimes did renew  
Their privilege, when Flaminus they slew,  
With divers more: with blood they purged this crime,  
This sin grew out of fashion for a time.  
Of this fowl fault, who ever guilty is,  
Shall find it apt to give him what is his.   

The woman's lust doth differ from the men,  
The young from old, the rich from poor again.  
The Countries too, just as they are enraged,  
So to their lusts they're diversely engaged.  
Man's love is fervent, woman's obstinate,  
Young men are wanton, old men purchase hate,  
Poor with their service, rich men with their gifts,  
The most with feasts, the roaring Sparks with shifts.  
The Gentlemen with maskings, sights, and plays,  
The barren wit in painting out her praise.   

The Italian doth dissemble with his love,  
With verses he'll applaud her still, to move  
Her to affect him: then he'll jealous grow:  
Without a watchman, he will not allow  
Her liberty; if he cannot obtain her,  
His tongue shall vent out spleen, and he'll disdain her.   

The Spaniard, in his lust, will much desire  
His mistress (with complaints) to quench the fire.  
And to obtain her, he'll adore her much:  
When he hath got her, than his mind is such,  
Through jealousy he'll spoil his; or agreed,  
She must be common to relieve her need.  
If she denies him, he's much discontented,  
And like a fiend before the time tormented.   

The French man, being hot, seeks to obtain  
His wish with songs; if jealousy his brain  
Doth once possess, he doth lament his case:  
If he's decei'vd, he'll rail and curse apace.  
But if he gets her, long he will not prise her,  
He'll love another, than he will despise her.   

The Germane being cold's raised by degrees  
To love, by art he strives, and then with fees.  
If he mistrust her, he will ne'er abide  
Her company: his heats soon qualified.   

The Frenchman loves in show, the Germane covers,  
The Spaniard doth conceit that all his lovers  
Are conquered by him. Th' Germans love comes to't,  
But still he puts in jealousy to boot.  
The Frenchman loves a wench that's full of pleasure,  
Though she be foul. The Spaniard has his treasure  
Laid up in beauty, be she ne'er so rude.  
But she that's bash full'st in the multitude,  
Doth please the Italian; the Germane doth embrace  
Her that is bold, and hath a brazen face.  
The Frenchman turns a fool, being obstinate;  
The Germane he grows wise, when 'tis too late;  
The Spaniard to gain favour in her eyes,  
Will undertake some mighty enterprise;  
The Italian will such dangers undergo,  
As if he'd have her where she would or no.  
But are not Britain's with these vices mixed?  
They borrow all, and wove their own betwixt.   

Great persons were besotted by this vice,  
As Hannibal, and Claudius; Caesar twice.  
Achilles for his Brise's stopped his fight.  
Mark Anthony was wounded with the sight  
Of Cleopatra: many more were brought  
To end their days; some first, some last, all naught.  
How were the people that were once beloved,  
Cursed for this sin? when storms of wrath were moved,  
They were not quickly laid; some were undone,  
And by this means were Nations overrun.   

And many wives were by their husbands slain,  
When law was out of use; oh hateful stain!  
And men for this were murdered by their wives,  
And for revenge they sacrificed their lives.  
The motherly law in Althaea was so changed  
To cruel hatred (and her mind estranged)  
She slew her sons, and whoredom was the cause  
That she and others broke strict nature's laws.  
Who can digest it but an iron breast?  
A wife, a mother here is turned a beast!   

But bawdry that doth patronise this vice,  
And draw them to't, and sets a higher price,  
As youth and beauty differs: there's expressed  
A middle sort betwixt the worst and best:  
It hath the help of many arts to draw,  
And pleads a custom from the heathens law.  
Nor is it like the cobwebs taking flies,  
But feathered fowls are taken for a prize.  
Not only beasts that winter hath made bare,  
It takes the pampered with this subtle snare.   

The civil young man, and the modest maid,  
With matrons, wives, and widows are betrayed.  
To help this Art there's many a thing in print,  
Young bawds may learn, the old are perfect in't.  
The art of Grammar, how to speak and write,  
Doth much avail, love-letters to indite,  
With acquaint expressions, flattering words, and moanoes,  
With Verbs and Adverbs, Adjectives, and tones  
From Interjections. Women must believe  
They joy i': their presence, in their absence grieve.   

Then next to this comes wanton Poetry,  
To teach the pen to act adultery.  
With Fables, Pastorals, Epigrams in rhymes,  
Stolen from old Venus, to infect the times.  
And in our days, some Poets are as bad  
That foster bawds, their wits do make them mad.  
Some have to please a puff-paste, or a punk,  
Employed their frothy wit; and being drunk;  
He that can of his snuff spawn out a brat,  
He'll swear there is no poetry like that.  
You must be sure his praises not to smother,  
He'll pause awhile, and then belch out another;  
Drink twice about, and fill him up his glasses,  
He'll be the man, the other are but asses.   

The Orator comes very close behind,  
With eloquence he ravisheth the mind,  
And helps the bawd with language to persuade;  
But some historians more prefer her trade.  
What's Lancelot? Tristram? Adrialus?  
Or Peregrinus? or that of Calistus?  
Such want on stories often have such power,  
That wives are lost, and maids they do deflower.  
She that can frame discourse of such things best,  
In City or in Court, above the rest,  
She is esteemed; this, and another suitor  
Sue forher strongly, yet she is a neuter.   

But who would think that Logic should give help  
And milk to nourish such a venomous whelp?  
The foul it makes seem fair, the black seem white,  
The wanton modest; that which gives delight  
(Be't ne'er so bad) 't will set upon't a gloss  
To cheat plain truth, at last it bears the loss.  
And music is a servant to this Art;  
But wanton singing bears the greatest part:  
unsavoury catches do the mind transport,  
Then fleshly lust is counted but a sport.  
Ale-meetings are as help, for there they may  
Have freedom to embrace, to kiss and play.  
The tripping Lass that doth so smoothly glide,  
She'll catch her prey; in corners then they'll hide.  
Lascivious pictures give to lust a wing,  
Venus, Praxitiles, Cupid that wanton thing,  
Corrupted Alchida; one being denied  
Fortune for's money, by the picture died.   

Wise Aristotle did so much abhor it,  
He'd have the chief inventor punished for it.  
The Geomancers, telling fortunes, dreams,  
With Soothsayers, they raise men to extremes.  
Astrology and Magic hand in hand  
Do bring in lust, and modesty with stand.  
Potions there are, and drinks bewitched with charms,  
Some lost their lives by't, others brought to harms.   

Physicians have been guilty, they can come  
At any time into a private room,  
And work their ends, and then without a fee,  
They'll promise to restore virginity:  
To keep the paps from growth; besides he will  
To do her pleasure, make her barren still:  
That she securely cursed sin may hide,  
He'll dawb the ruins o'er of madam Pride;  
And colour harlots, make them fit for sale,  
And starch up pock-holes; books do tell this tale.  
Some herbs are found that will increase desire;  
Ovid made boast how oft he quenched his fire,  
And yet it flamed again; a famous Poet!  
Not shamed of sin, but all the world shall know it.  
Under the show of Physic, divers do  
Undo themselves, make others guilty too,  
Eudemus with Livia had his will,  
And Drusus knew not: Messalina's ill  
Was hid awhile, that Claudius could not find  
But she was sick; to lust she was inclined.  
Bold Aristippus having Thais, that whore,  
At his command, when others kept the door,  
Did vaunt upon't, when others spent their state  
'Pon her, she keeps him at a lofty rate;  
Then sensual things he strangely did applaud,  
And this Philosopher did prove a bawd.   

And handicrafts of women draws some in,  
If they embroider, wove, or sew, or spin.  
Some carry gloves and girdles; with a toy  
Such plodding queans do oft poor maids betray:  
Thus they begin, but when their labour's past,  
They'll set up bawdry, having first a taste.   

Brave exercise of great ones hath obtained  
Unlawful love; as Romulus once gained  
The Sabine women: so AEneas did  
By hunting win fair Dido, being hid  
From his companions. jupiter did use  
Shepherds for bawds. It is undoubted news  
That Mariners to Venice bring rich fraught,  
And retail Merchants in exchange have naught.   

Sumptuous banquets often have inflamed  
The blood with lust, than men were not ashamed  
To show themselves like beasts: as Virgil writes  
In his AEneids; time cursed such delights.  
Ther ther are many other things which do agree  
(To paint a whore) to help out bawdry.   

Or all enchantments (yet I dare be bold)  
there's none of them can be compared with gold.  
The jealous man with gold is soon appeased;  
The simple cuckold, if with gold he's greased,  
Is pacified: the watchman's overcome,  
Gold opens gates; the private sleeping room  
Is entered by it; gold takes part with moans,  
Charms, locks and bolts, and conquers bars and stones,  
Nay, gold hath oft dissolved the marriage knot:  
Some have been raised by it, (such a lot)  
His wife being fair, that he's become a knight:  
Another rogue to please a Lords delight,  
Hath been advanced to a place of state.  
Another he's unhappy-fortunate.  
An outworn varlet, that was very poor,  
Hath been advanced in marrying of a whore,  
There's history that plainly doth declare  
That Priests with Nuns (although they had a care  
To go to shrist) have been as bad as any,  
And at their shriving have deflowered many,  
Whose souls (to heaven they pretend to gain)  
They sacrifice to hell and lasting stain.  
They think it sin to marry lawful wives,  
But not a sin to lend lascivious lives.  
A ruler made his boast, ten thousand fines  
He had from Priests which kept their Concubines.  
In former time in Rome they did decree  
(For Venus' temple, and for bawdry)  
That in the day men follow, whisper, venture  
To ask, to kiss, to promise, and to enter  
Without control, in house or postern gate,  
And reap their vile desires, being late.  
Put fear and shame aside, and banish sadness,  
Use oaths, guile, violence, deceit and madness.  
The husband cannot know what child's his own,  
Yet he must reap what was by villain's swoon.  
But julia, that feighing subtle trull,  
took no strange income, till her ship was full.  
The heathen gods, and persons of great worth,  
By practice and permission did set forth  
The bawdy art: as Mercury and Pan,  
And brave Ulysses, though a noble man,  
Was proved a bawd: Pope Sextus did erect  
A noted stews, and whores and bawds protect.  
Those that did rule their church, did reckon in  
Their constant gains, that issued from that sin.  
A common proverb up and down did go,  
He pays his ducat, keep a whore or no.  
In any kingdom swollen with avarice,  
There's nothing ill that is a golden vice.   

A woman might (her husband being gone  
From home) for money live with any one,  
And ne'er be questioned. Countries were oppressed  
With heavy burdens: Princes were distressed.  
Such that defend it, say, 'tis to prevent  
A worse ill, to give young men content.  
If from a kingdom whores are took away,  
All married wives and maids would go astray,  
And widows too. What case is that place in  
Which cannot stand unless't be proptby sin?  
Who is't but knows, within the holy land  
Whores might not dwell? how strongly did it stand,  
Till they broke in't! but after't was betrayed,  
Fell by degrees. till it was quite destroyed.  
The Nicholaits, they to avoid distrust,  
Did give their wives in common to the lust  
Of any man; lost nature was their guide,  
They thought they had religion on their side.  
Those rulers that gave way to't, and consent,  
Though they no lechers were, the punishment  
Shall find'em out: I wish that all may hate  
This gulf of hell, before it be too late!  
He that's above and sees, and holds his tongue,  
The world shall know, will not be silent long.    

SECT. 39 Of a company of Roisters coming to a Stews, and chaffering with the Bawd for the Whores, as men do for jades in Smithfield, etc.  

WHen that black tyrant that doth join with night,  
Had chased away Don Phoebus from our sight,  
And took possession of his lofty seat,  
Though light was gone, he left behind him heat;  
Some is contracted, which both flames and burns,  
Time has decreed, that they should reign by turns.  
The lesser eyes of heaven did find out  
(When night did rule, and strive to bring about)  
Unmatched devices: from prodigious birth,  
Proud Pluto's Captains do derive their mirth.  
(The turnings of the clew) shame did descry  
A market made in hell; my muse and I  
Are now at odds about it; her request  
Is, that she may go free, or else be pressed  
To overlook the market: I am bend  
To give her leave, and further her intent.  
Black dammee jack, bold Dick, and highway Ned,  
(They were no scoundrels, they were better bred)  
Came to a house of fame, they would have bought  
They knew not what; when they their money sought,  
The Indies had it, for their climate's cold,  
They could no silver keep, nor harbour gold.   

No entertainment there; so they were fain  
To lose their labour, and go back again.  
But shortly after, having money store,  
They camy again (he first would choose his whore,  
Whose purse was fullest) then they call the bawd,  
And rouse the pander up; both being awed  
When they had shown them gold; we've money now.  
Come, bring your jades, you cannot but allow  
Us here to drive the price; let's see your ware;   jack. 

But bring the best, damn me, I never care  
If beware be fresh, and good, what rates I give;  
I am no fool, hang't, every trade must live.  
Give me a jade unrid, that's plump and fat,  
With dainty coloured hair, for I like that.   Dick. 

Give me a lively marc whose limbs are strong,  
For she'll perform a journey though't be long:  
Quicksighted, nimble, with a tender flank;  
Not of the highest, nor the lower rank.  
Well jointed, free from spavins, with a breast  
Broad, large, and comely, with a dainty crest.   Ned. 

Bring me a beast that's wild with wanton rage,  
Her grinders white, her mouth must show her age;  
A little head, her haure I'll have her own,  
With rolling eves, her face not common known.  
Well hipt, round-buttocked, with a good strong dock,  
Her forefeet small, a curious fetter-lock  
Upon her feet behind; she must not fail  
(To grace therest) to have a be some tail.  
Set not too high a price; say what you'd have?  
I'll give it freely; this's the jade I crave.   

The Bawd commands the Pander to bring out  
Her pampered colts, that they may troth about.  
Well trimmed, and bridled up; they may be sold  
This market day; or hired out for gold.   

Now here they come; and one among the rest,  
Being young and handsome; on this pretty beast  
jack Dam sets his mind, he does inquire  
What for a journey, he must pay for hire?  
The Bawd replies, I swear, she is not cracked,  
She's only skittish, having ne'er been backed.  
Sh'has no defect, ten pounds to me is due,  
But yet I'll have but half so much of you:  
In hope you'll use her well; pray lay her sost,  
She will not fail you, if you walk her oft.   jac. 

Pray let me try her, for I never durst  
Give so much coin, unless I tried her first.  
She may be broken-winded, blind, or lame,  
(Trub turn about; speak, is not that her name?)  
If she should faulty prove, my money's lost,  
My time ill spent, I in my journey crossed.  
Three pound's enough; I'll give you half in hand,  
If she perform the business, then command  
The restat my return: my journey's short,  
I'll drill her on, the travels but a sport.   

Come, I'll not stand with you, you are my friend,  
And customer; pay, take her, there's an end.   

Then dicing Dick makes choice, he cannot find  
(In every part) one suiting to his mind:  
At last he 'spid a neat one, fair in show,  
She had no fault, but that she was too low.  
Pray mistress Bawd (said he) what is your price?  
In faith (said she) she has been backed but twice,  
She's every way complete; upon my word,  
As sure as all the Country can afford.  
Three pound's the rate you must give for her hire,  
I'll pawn my life, that she shall never tyre.  
Here's twenty shillings; when I come again,  
If she proves right, I'll give the other ten.  
Well, take her for this once, pray use her well;  
She's somewhat choice; where she did lately dwell,  
She fed on candid provender, her thirst  
Was quenched with Spanish water: no man durst  
Attempt to back her till he gave her gold;  
She was too full of metal long to hold  
Her spirits in, without a golden show;  
She's small, or else sh'has no defect I know.  
You may be friend me, when the gamesters win  
Good store of gold, then do but bring'em in  
To see my pretty rogues, that's all I crave,  
I will requite thee, thou thy choice shalt have  
Sine pecunia. Quack, no more; I'll bring  
Home mony-blades, that love to sit and sing  
All care away. Come, little Tib, thou'rt mine,  
And for thy hire I have paid a fine.   

Now rustic Ned, at last he views, to see  
Among the jades, if any lest there be,  
That he can fancy; one he quickly caught,  
To know her age, and then he spies a fault,  
Her mark was out; then he began to dote  
'Pon one broke-winded, rattling in the throat;  
He did not like; again he turned his eye  
Upon another, but he did descry  
Her hip was fallen, with a rotten rump,  
Her tail quite spoiled, left nothing but a stump;  
Another had the glanders, some the fashions,  
All were defective; then broke forth his passion  
Against the Bawd; you do me much abuse!   

Must I take trash which other men refuse?  
Is't 'cause you think my pockets are not full?  
Or do you think me such a simple gull,  
That knows no difference? clowns indeed are wise,  
They ride not late, or seldom early rise  
To go a journey: but at Christmas next  
I'll take my time, I shall be th'rowly vexed  
If I should miss a boon, that shortly will  
Fall I know where; pish, I have money still  
To pay a double fee: bring forth a jade,  
And if I like her, we shall quickly trade.   Pand. 

There are but three in all, two are not able  
To work a jot, nor yet come from the stable:  
One has a tympany, she's swelled with fat,  
The other has been lately over h'at,  
Which makes her ill; the third indeed is strong,  
As true as steel, being active, sound and young:  
Her colour will not change, she's perfect black,  
I'll take my oath, she's mettle to the back:  
But she'll be costly, she will always eat  
The purest manchet, and the daintiest meat  
That can be got: and for her drink you must  
Give her French water, mixed with Indian dust:  
Four pound's the rate to you, you are my guest,  
Though you chose last, (in troth) you have the best:   

Come, here she is. Pray give me leave to speak,  
What ere you say, me thinks her dock is weak:  
Her neck is thin, flat hoofed, her back's too long,  
And out of flesh too, how can she be strong?  
My journey's easy, but she'll rise an end,  
And falldown back ward under any friend.   

Here's a jacobus, with all faults I'll take her,  
She will perform the task, or else I'll make her.  
If she be gentle, ready still to stand,  
I'll walk a foot; and lead her in my hand.   Bawd. 

Well, take her on these terms, and when yo'ave met  
With a fair booty, do not me forget,  
But bring me coin, and acquaintance; I'll have care  
To hide the fault, so I may have a share.   

Nothing but mum; I hope ere long you'll say,  
Of all the rest, that Ned's your dainti'st boy.   

The Bawd is pleased, the Pander has his fee,  
They having baited, they did all agree  
To take their journeys; out they set together,  
Being mounted on the furies; then the weather  
Began to change: the Devil he runs by;  
What need they ride on post, when hels so nigh?  
If justice strike, they in as little while  
May light at hell, as one may ride a mile.  
Great Pluto's Postmaster, if any tire,  
At next stage he will fit'em: for the hire  
They need not care, he'll trust: another day,  
When all their journey's end, he'll have his pay.   

The metall'd beast, as black as any coal,  
Doth falter first, for she is proved with foal.   

Tib's grease is melted; and the Farriar must  
Show all his Art; they leave her to his trust.   

The young one too is foundered in the belly,  
And all her blood is settled to a jelly.  
jack swears Ned's mad, nor doth the gamester win;  
They're fain to leave these cattle at the Inn.  
But taking fresh ones, they again set forth,  
And steered their course point-blank unto the North,  
With furious speed: their way they cannot miss,  
'Tis hcls broad way; they may be there by this,  
If they returned not; they have Nature's Sun  
To give them light. Farewell, the market's done.    

SECT. 40. Of a fearful judgement that happened in the city of Angers in France upon three men; Lafoy Fontaine, and two other; how they lay with the Devil, and how they died.  

When low-born Morpheus with his swarthy face  
Had chased the day into another place:  
With blind conceit, declaring to the sight  
To match himself to that sad Queen of night:  
The fixed stars denied to give consent,  
But hid themselves, being filled with discontent.  
Though silent night had hushed the earth; a sleep,  
Yet hags did walk, Owlesfly, and serpents creep.  
Sleep that was kin to death, laid some to rest,  
Lust that was kin to hell, had some possessed.   

Among the rest, three gentlemen (whose worth  
Was not worth naming) newly coming forth  
Into the street, strait one of them began  
To speak, (but judge was't like a gentleman?)  
You know my boys, how freely I did eat  
Of that made dish: it was provoking meat;  
It warms my blood; and summons up my lust,  
To seek some Courtesan: ye faith I must;  
I boil, and burn within; who can endure it?  
'Tis a disease, a youthful sin would cure it.  
Boone cavaleres, le's seek about for ease,  
I know you're both so sick of my disease,  
As I am now; there are Stews in this Town;  
We'll have the wenches, or we'll pull'em down;  
I m confident, should I a Devillmeet  
Shaped like a woman, walking in the street,  
He shall netscape my hands; but I would try  
If he had flesh, whe're he would with melic.  
(Alas! poor Sodoms' Imp! thou'lt quickly know  
Him from a woman when you meet below!)  
Come Noble blades, walk but along with me,  
I'll find a present remedy for all us three.  
Be you but bold; and then we need not fear,  
(My ride's too strong for flesh and blood to bear)  
If we should miss t'attain a wench with words,  
Then let's be valiant, and draw out our swords.  
We'll neither beg nor steal, we will but borrow  
A courtesy; we'llaugh, and pay to morrow.   

Thus said, a we man did appear in's sight,  
(A page before her bearing of a light)  
Complete in show, so beautified and fair,  
Her eyes did light and pierce the clouded air.  
To whom this foreman, thus begins to prate:  
Save you fair Lady! walk you here so late?  
I'm moved with pity, who can choose but moan  
Your sad condition, walking here alone?  
Accept me as your servant; none shall wrong  
You by the way, if I but walk along.  
I am a Gentleman, and 'tis my use  
Thus to preserve fair Ladies from abuse.  
Grant me this favour, cast a smi'e on me;  
Had I your love, how happy should I be!   

Then she replied, sir, this your sweet behaviour,  
Your love, your care, your undeserved favour  
You show to me, deserves more love than I  
Shalle're requite, until the time I die.  
But whilst I live, I'll ne'er forget to prise  
Your kindness: to requite you I'll devise.  
I was by sriends invited to a feast;  
(Although, I say't, I was the chiefest guest)  
They were so over joyed with my sight,  
We could not part till twelve a clock at night.  
My husband's gone from home; if he should know  
That I was out so late, he'd snuff and throw.  
Much like a Madman; if you did him sec,  
As youare a Gentleman, you'd pity me!  
Home I must go, if he's at home before,  
He'll brawl, and fight, and kick me out of door.  
'Pon small occasions, he will raise up strife,  
He's still unkind. I live a weary life!   

They hearing this, did think it was the lass  
That they did seek for, many words did pass  
Amongst them all; her words did give them strength,  
And drew them on: with one consent at length,  
They ventured out this blast:   

Sweet mistress, never fear, for you shall find  
True friends of us; soloving, and so kind,  
As ever Lady did; our lives, and all  
Shall lie at stake: to free you from this thrall.  
The churl shall know that we will take your part,  
And rub his gills: and when he feels the smart,  
He'll grow more tame: pish, hang this froward fool,  
We'll find a trick to make his fury cool.  
A jealous coxcomb! we may hit the vein,  
And let him blood; then that will help his brain.   

Then by and by a key her page drew out,  
Let them into a room, all hanged about  
With Taffeta: the colour perfect yellow,  
A fire in't, where they did think to swallow  
Their pleasures in by gross; soon she was drawn  
To prostitute herself; when they did fawn,  
And praise her beauty; she did quench their fire;  
Each one of them fulfilled his vile desire.  
When they had found such full and sweet content,  
How fair she was, how soon she did consent;  
They judge her as a prize of wondrous worth;  
She scorns their coin; they set her beauty forth  
The more at large. Much kindness they would do her,  
If she'll but grant they may come often to her.  
Their pleasure was but short; yet in that space  
They praised her limbs, her hands, her eyes, her face.   

Then thus she spoke; why do you now rejoice  
In this your sudden and unwary choice?  
What have you gained now, but a horrid prize  
A show of goodness, which will prove but lies?   

Then one of them replied; I think you are  
So fair, so handsome, and beyond compare  
For qualities; of such a sweet condition,  
France cannot show the like; had I commission  
To search the fairest out, I'd come to you;  
And what I speak, is nothing but your due.  
With that she answered; turn your eyes and see  
What purchase you have got; you lay with me,  
And had delight: now bid adieu to pleasure,  
For your reward is worse than empty measure.   

Then pulling up her garments from below,  
The storms did rise, the furious wind did blow.  
And presently they heard such claps of thunder,  
As if the earth were forced to rend in sunder.  
The lightning flashed, or elstheyed had no light:  
And there they did behold the fearful'st sight  
That ever eyes beheld; the sight of hell,  
The horrid shapes the blackness of the cell,  
The burning in't, the dreadful cloven feet,  
The gasping ghosts, how Devils did them greet.   

Then presently they were struck down to gether:  
The house was vanished, and the stormy weather  
Was put to silence; but they three were found  
Grovelling in mire; all the City ground  
Could never match that odious stinking place;  
This Devilish whore, there leaves them in disgrace.   

One coming by when Titan's flags were spread,  
And spied them all, but one of them was dead:  
The other two lay wallowing in the dirt;  
(Besides the filth, none could perceive'em hurt)  
But they found death was making way within;  
Their souls were wounded with the curse of sin,  
They for a Priest with one consent did cry,  
They'd fain confess their crimes before they die.  
In this distress time did afford them hope,  
That they should have their pardon from the Pope.  
He that did first vent out lascivious breath,  
Now falls to be the second man for death:  
For on the morrow, death being moved with lust,  
Did ravish him; then left him in the dust.  
The other, two days after did resign  
Himself to death. Now if this quill of mine  
Were dipped in blood, 'twould make the reader fear  
A where for ever; and to drop a tear  
For these unhapy men; Oh! never more  
Let lust prevail! the Devil's turned a whore.  
Oh! horrid state! what case were these men in,  
To poison time, and die in such a sin!  
Did ever Monsters match with fouler evil?  
Did any villains seek to court the Devil?  
Till Fountain did begin? did hell intend  
A plot to bring them to a cursed end?  
Or is't in travel with a stranger birth?  
Or has it leave to keepc exchange on earth?  
Here's quick return; 'twil send a whore again,  
If it has hope to catch more such vile men.   

Did Proserpina, the feigned Queen of hell,  
Sendout this Nymph? does Pluto like it well,  
To be a Carpenter? (the house seemed fair)  
Builds he by Patent castles in the air?  
Who's his Upholster, that did make the bed?  
Or was't a grave, made to enclose the dead?  
Whence came the hangings? was't from hell? I know  
There's hangging still; but 'tis not there for show.  
What fire was it, that gave such light to those?  
'Twas but the flashes from that hellhounds nose.  
It seemed to be from hell (for 'twas a spark  
Too full of heat:) but that it was not dark.  
Did Vulcan make the key to let them in?  
And paint old Venus o'er? did he then begin,  
To call her first from hell? he's old and lame;  
And he's ashamed to answer to his name.  
Did Dipsas let that room (a little time)  
While they committed this accursed crime?  
Or did the Broker do't, cause they were three,  
In hopes they'd pay him with a treble fee?  
The Devil's grown a Broker; and I will,  
In seeing one, think on the other still.  
Give one a prize, pay treble, he willfawne,  
If Devils lend, they'd have their souls to pawn.  
How fell the house so suddenly away?  
The works of darkness cannot brook the day.  
How soon are shadows gone! though they appear!  
Sin ends in discontent; 'tis blasted here.  
Men wanting reason, are deprived of sense,  
The Devil seems a whore, for recompense.  
Their reason and their sense renews again;  
But 'tis in justice, as they're seals to pain.  
Whores are not Devils yet, time is not past;  
Beware, or they'll prove Devils at the last.  
The grave hath shut his jaws upon those men,  
I'll write their Epitaph, and weep again.   

The Epitaph.  
THese hapless Imps were partners in an evil,  
That shameless time did blush to hear and see;  
They acted sornication with a Devil;  
Have spirits flesh? 'tis strange! how can this be?  
They were the beasts, that used a Devil's bed:  
(A plague they got) but had no maidenhead.    

SECT. 41. Of a young man that went to drink with a whore, and how he was tempted, and gulled.  

Upon a time, when the pale Queen of night  
Was forced by Titan to yield up her right,  
Then bold Aurora does her flags display,  
T'invite her guests, to usher in the day:  
A night-bird yet was seen; and this I find,  
Sh'was truly fowl, but made of womankind.   

She met a man, well clad, with money plenty;  
His outside showed his pockets were not empty.  
She looks upon him; but the man was mute,  
Then she broke silence, for she had a suit  
To him in private; calls him by his name,  
(Whether he was a man that used the game  
That she affected; or by accident  
Had learned his name, to further her intent,  
I cannot tell) she proffered him the wine;  
Shake hands, you are a countryman of mine:  
I know your friends, pray tell me how they do;  
I know your lands, and I have lands there too.  
But that my Uncle, like a churl, in spite,  
For slipping once, does keep away my right.  
My brother sold my linen, and my chest;  
I've divers things that trouble much my breast,  
T'acquaint you with ('twill mitigate my pain)  
The help I have, is, freedom to complain.  
Thus spoke; unto the Tavern than they went;  
(The twig was green, and he was quickly bend)  
They're entertained, and having drank a quart,  
She'll make't a pottle; how can friends thus part?  
I cannot talk until I take my liquor;  
Come, drink about, 'twill make my brains the quicker.  
When that was drunk, seeing 'twas his hap to find her,  
For charge of wine, he scorns to come behind her.  
They make it up a gallon: then this sinner  
Does make enquiry, what there was for dinner?  
A pullet, and a woodcock she espied,  
They must be dressed, and what they had beside,  
The bill will show; till then be you content:  
I'm loath to leave them in their merriment.  
They ate, and drank, she brought in fresh discourse  
Of country, friends, until her throat grew hoarse.   

But having dined, they both forgot their grace:  
This whore grows warm, and with a shameless face  
Begins to tempt him: eclipse him, than she kissed him,  
And swears she would not for a world sh'had missed him,  
But he not stirred, her bold attempts did grieve him,  
He chid her for't; choose whether you'll believe him.  
Fie, fie, my country woman, and so rude?  
I thought y'had been with modesty endued:  
But now I see your ends: fire sends out smoke.  
(I am afraid it was but faintly spoke.)   

But she replied, It was no fault of mine:  
If't be a fault, impute it to the wine.  
'Twas for thy sake, affections did me move:  
Is that amiss, which springs from too much love?  
Be not so stupid, do not frown or vex;  
'Tis but the fondness of the female sex.  
'Tis true, 'tis boldness, thus for me to wooethee,  
I'd give delight, that's all the harm I'll do thee.  
Have I not beauty, with a colour fresh?  
Am I not young? have I not tender flesh?  
My parts agree, my hand's as white as milk;  
Thou may'st embrace thine arms full of this silk.  
But thou deniest me: art thou such a fool?  
What, heartless quite? and are thy spirits cool?  
A Stoic sure! affections thou hast none;  
Art thou a man? or art thou wood, or stone?  
My countryman! and yet to want a spirit?  
I am ashamed; hast thou land to inherit  
And not a man? Fortune ere long will send it.  
What good wilt do? thou'lt'It want a heart to spend it;  
Thy face does promise more; I fear thouart gelt,  
Thou blushest now; then fain she would have felt;  
But he denied her; then they fall to drinking:  
And now this quean doth beat her brains with thinking  
How to be gone: leave him to pay the shot:  
He's but dry meat (thinks she) there's nothing got  
By such a thick-skin: so she makes excuse  
To have a place that was for private use.  
This project took, it finished her intent:  
The passage being free, away she went.   

He in her absence, nor a sleep, nor waking,  
His fancy wrought, his brains o'er charged with aching,  
The reckoning vexed his mind: she stayed so long,  
He feared a cheat; but yet he held his tongue.  
At last the news was brought that she was fled:   

What is my countrywoman so ill bred  
To slink away so rudely? now to leave me?  
With flattering words, oh! how did she deceive me  
Is this the love she did to me pretend?  
Deceitful slut! but now I see her end:  
I'd fain be gone, this place is like a tomb;  
Bring in the bill, and let me know my doom.   

The bil's preferred, examined too so far  
(His cause is heard, and tried at the bar)  
That he is guilty: so the man is cast.  
Behind his back, they sentence on him past;  
Not so severe, but he might be redeemed  
With coin: for money makes a man esteemed.  
This bil's a bill of debt, 'twas never sealed,  
In time the Statute might have it repealed,  
And made it void; there's witness that 'tis due,  
T'prevent the worst, just while the bill is new,  
It must be paid: 'tis brought, though he doth spread it,  
His eyes being dim, the Drawer's feign to read it.   

Inpri. Aquart of dainty Muscadine.  
Item. With game-Hens eggs in number nine,  
Item. Four quarts of Sack, upon my word,  
The best that London can afford.  
Item. Five quarts of Claret, fine and neat,  
To fit your stomaches for your meat.  
Item. A Pullet, of the very best,  
With sauce, exceeding neatly dressed.  
Item. A Woodcock, though 't were somewhat stale,  
'Twas fat, and white, it roasted pale.  
Item. For bread and linen clean and white,  
To please your minds, and give delight.  
Item. Small beer, your lusts and heat to cool,  
It served a Whore, and pleased a Foole.   

Summa totalis.  
The reckoning cast, doth now amount  
Agreeing with a just account.  
4— 10— 18   

With sighing, vexing, when he heard it read,  
With fixed eyes, and shaking of his head,  
With heavy looks, and other signs of grief,  
He sues unto his pockets for relief:  
And finding succour in his great distress,  
(For they redeemed him from his heaviness,  
And freed his heels) for that he was content  
To keep them as a lasting monument.   

He's gone, but shame attends him: he's a foe  
Unto himself still wheresoe'er he go:  
His conscience chides, tells him he did not well  
To trust himself so near the brink of hell.  
Sins entrance still, foreruns a greater evil,  
And whores do lay men open to the Devil.  
Besides, report will blaze abroad the shame,  
And then disgrace will seize upon his name.  
His friends will hear't, they'll grieve, in grieving flight him:  
His foes will snarl, & in their snarling bite him;  
His friends will doubt the worst, till they have tried him:  
His foes will speak the worst, and then deride him:  
Both friends and foes will hear of his disgrace;  
His foes will laugh, his friends, lament his case.  
All men will judge him guilty of the ill,  
And twattling Fame will nose him with it still.  
The sight of Taverns shakes him limb, by limb:  
He'll think that some are there bewitched like him:  
But going by that Tavern, where the punk  
And he did eat, and drink, till both were drunk;  
And thinking how they dallied; what a gull  
She made of him: Oh! than his heart is full:  
He reads the ground, ashamed to show his face:  
'Cause 'twas to him a sinful, shameful place.  
Open disgrace, and secret shame within,  
Go hand in hand: this is the fruit of sin.    

SECT. 42. How he met with her again; of their discourse, and how he pawned her for a large reckoning.  

But after this, his choler boiled to rage:  
He's grown the scorn, a wonder of the age.  
Great shame and horror mixed, breeds his disease,  
Revenge alone is bend to seek him ease.  
Revenge must make a plaster for his sore;  
And to his sins, he'd fain add one sin more.  
He seeks this whore, nor can he choose but mind her,  
Knows not her name, nor when, nor where to find her:  
But on a time, Don Phoebus being dressed,  
His chariot mounted driving to'rd the West,  
He road in state, his countenance was fair,  
His glittering beams did gild the wavering air:  
The earth was crusted, plants had hoary beards,  
A snowwhite Canopy did hide the herds.  
The airy choristers were kept in thrall:  
And Chanticler's though speaker for them all.  
The Northern treasures broke: it scatters cold:  
But that brave Champion seeing it so bold  
Drives it to corners: though his golden sight  
Doth fright it thus; it comes age'n at night.   

Turn, turn my Muse, why dost thou now digress?  
Sinful revenge tho'rt bound here to express?   

Upon occasion, walking by that place  
Where at the first he chanced to see her face,  
(It seems to me, she kept her Market there,  
And what she sold, was rotten ware, and dear)  
He spied her, she knew him, they must renew  
Their former friendship; now they will be true  
To one another, they'll but quench their thirst,  
Not make a day on't, as they did at first.  
He had forgot her slip; nor did it move him,  
He's satisfied now, if she will but love him.  
The wine they had; he that at first time saw her,  
And waited on them, is again their drawer.  
He had the charge to watch her, he was willing  
To do't to purpose, for't he had a shilling.  
The wine was naught, or she had lost her taste:  
Shed have a dainty bit to break her fast:  
'Tis very wholesome mornings: 'twill embellish  
The vital parts, and give the wine a relish.   

Fried Sausages, they had; she was content  
To stay with him, and other men prevent,  
If he had money: then he shows her gold,  
Which joys her heart; and then this whore was bold  
To call for wine, and faggots for the fire:  
Bespoke a dinner to her own desire:   

Then she began to dally, sport, and play,  
Sung bawdy songs, to pass the time away:  
She does engage herself unto his pleasure:  
And tells him he ne'er knew what hidden treasure  
She had in store; I know thou knowst my mind:  
Stir up thy heart and thou mayst quickly find,  
Thou hast no mind: do, prove thyself an Ass,  
T'embrace the box, and let the jewel pass.  
Thy betters would be glad to have this proffer;  
And men in Scarlet would embrace this offer;  
Nay sue, and sue again to have my love,  
By friends, and gifts, and if they could but move  
Me to affect'em, happy they would be!  
There's two or three a looking now for me.  
I love thee best of all that ere I saw.  
Above all things I love bold nature's law.  
Look upon me; dost dote upon a stone?  
Or art thou grieved 'cause thou hast ne'er a one?  
What, moulded all of earth? hadst thou but fire  
Mixed with thy blood, thou'dst show it with desire.  
My blood is active, see it in my veins;  
My spirit's lively, and my youthful reins  
Full of desire, but this at last I think,  
Thou art a man, but proffered wares do stink.  
Thus spoke, she ceased:  
He mused a while, fain he his mind would break,  
Yet so put to't, he knew not what to speak.  
He'll not deny, nor yet would he consent:  
While he was pumping how to give content,  
Dinner's brought up: the first, than second course:  
And after dinner, than the quean grows worse;  
But he's the same, if you'll but take his word:  
I'll leave the doubt; if any can afford  
A good construction, help me at a need,  
Which way to turn, that we may be agreed.  
She calls for fiddlers, but they cannot come:  
They are employed in another room.  
These shirking rogues did show themselves but poor,  
They did not come, to wait upon this whore.   

They now provide for supper, and they cast  
What fowl to have: the reckoning must be last.   

They dranck, they strived so much as they were able  
To bring each other, underneath the table.  
He's turned a hogshead, she is but a barrel;  
He leaves the snuffs, and she begins to quarrel.  
Their brains are drowned; though they can hardly stand?  
They'll drink the other pottle hand to hand.   

Now they have supped the cloth being taken away,  
Her mind runs on the score, that was to pay:  
And feign she'd slink away, but that he eyed her:  
She was half gone, and then the drawer spied her.  
Then she began to drink afresh again:  
She stretched her guts, to overcharge his brain.  
Thinking at last to scape, and get renown;  
But yet the hogshead drank the barrel down:  
And then away goes he, and leaves the whore  
Asleep: but waking, she must pay the score.  
But when she waked, and found that he was gone  
She was perplexed: for money she had none.  
She calls the drawer to bring in the bill,  
She reads it thus; though sore against her will.   

Breakfast.  
Inpri. Three quarts of Allegant fresh and good,  
To strengthen you and help your blood.  
Item. Ten quarts of good Canary sack  
To drown your brains, bring you to wrack.  
Item. Eight quarts of Claret, that was it  
That made you drunk, and stole your wit,  
Item. For Saussages, and sli'st roast beisse,  
That gave the knave and whore relief.   

Dinner.  
Item. A Capon roasted, very fine:  
Honester folks might with it dine.  
Item. Two Rahits, Feldivers beside,  
You did exceed and show your pride.  
Item. A brace of Teile, a dish of Larks,  
Not fit for those with bawdy marks.   

Supper.  
Item. A roasted Hen 'twas fresh and new,  
Sh'was never trod so much as you.  
Item. A dish of Pigeons, and a Tart,  
Such Imps to eat it, vexed my heart.  
Item. For Bread, and Cheese, and Linen clean,  
That well might shame a nasty quean.  
Item. For Faggots which did feed the fire.  
To fit you for your whorish hire.   

Summa totalis.  
The same amounts to you may see,  
That you had cost, with bawdry,  
3— 4— 5   

When she had read the bill, it much did fear her,  
She blubbered out (the knavish boys did jeer her)  
Such snotty tears that washed the painting out;  
The wrinkles now appear, her pearled snout  
Has all the colour; being grown so hot,  
She must be cooled, for now to pay the shot  
She must deliver up her beaver hat,  
But 'twill not serve, (yet she is vexed at that.)  
Then she is stripped out of her silken gown;  
Had you but heard her swear, and seen her frown,  
You would have thought her mad; she cursed the man.  
And called him villain, rogue, thief, what she can  
Devise to reckon; then the Drawer last,  
He must be hanged, she sentence on him past.   

Away she goes, so like a Bedlam hag,  
Had she a goblet and a canvasse bag,  
Then Bess of Bedlam she had now been named.  
Being impudent, she scorns to be ashamed.  
Sh'has music as she goes, made by an owl,  
And dogs do bark, some other dogs do howl.  
But if some Beadle, after this her stripping,  
Had been so good t' have helped her to a whipping,  
she'd had her due. I do not speak with fainting,  
The stripes had lasted longer than her painting.  
But in the morn, when day began to dawn,  
She went with money to redeem her pawn:  
(For whores and thiefs still keep a stock together,  
They say 'tis good to help in stormy weather,)  
But if her tail brings in no better prizes,  
Her hands ere long will bring her to th' assizes.    

SECT. 43. To a Fiddler that was importunate to be entertained in a Tavern by two or three Gentlemen.  

A Fidler coming to a tavern late,  
(That day had been to him unfortunate)  
His brains being over-soaked, his tongue was oyl'ds  
And tipped with nonsense; but his fiddle failed  
To bring him in his veils (which moved his ire)  
Being strung too low, nor could he raise it higher.  
He's out of sorts, but seeking for relief,  
His melancholy fiddle tuned his grief.  
For want of custom he alone did play  
The lamentable tune of Welladay!  
Feign he'd go home, but then his empty purse  
Restrained his purpose, and his brains did nurse  
A poor conceit of home; to help his need  
His fiddle's better strung; it is agreed  
That he should search the house, perhaps he might  
(To help his day) speed better in the night.   

But coming to a room where he did find  
Some company, but not to shoot his mind,  
He pressed upon them, would take no denial,  
He'd give a lesson, having tuned his Vial.   

Than one replied, trench not upon this ground,  
What, dost thou come to charm us with a sound?  
Whence eam'st thou now? spright-like thou dost appear,  
Speak, art thou come to play upon us here?  
Thy hollowhearted siddle sounds within,  
Thou'dst be as empty, were it not for fin:  
Thou with thy fiddle mayst compared be,  
For that without is varnished like thee.  
The upper end doth represent thy face,  
But thine doth change more; trading with the base  
Hath made thee so: the neck is very long,  
So thine would be, if it were once well strung.  
But with the strings I will not once compare,  
Thine should be hemp, but these are made with hair  
Thy fiddle's dry, it soundeth with a touch,  
Thou art not sound, but thou art wet too much:  
Yet both of you are common in the town;  
The fiddle hath a bridge, thine's broken down.  
The pegs will make the strings or low, or higher;  
So is thy note, thy face being set on fire.  
jucrease of liquor will not cool thy heat,  
Thou singest for drink, and thou dost scrape for meat.   

To touch thy name it is not my intent,  
For'tis confirmed by act of Parliament.  
But thou art proud, and wilt not own thy name,  
Thou art a shifter, canst thou shift thy shame?  
Thou play'st away thy time, (thy strings will break)  
And thou canst play, although thou canst not speak.  
The Milkmaids have a garland, thou must be  
Their chief Musician, and thou mayst be free  
Against the Wake, and at the Whitsun A'le  
Thou mayst get in, if thou canst tell thy tale  
With inpudence. Bear's would thy music grace.  
But that a Bagpipe-player has the place.  
Thy'state's not much, nor much is like to be,  
'Tis gotten ill, and wastes as fast as thee.  
But thou runnest not in debt, none will thee trust,  
Except the chandler's wife, alas! she must!  
(Thou bring'st her custom) there in thou mayst boast,  
That thou canst score five shillings on the post:  
But if she ask it, thou wilt grasp her middle,  
Pay her with words, and bid her go and fiddle.   

Thou hast no trade, nor wast thou born to land,  
Yet all thy gettings are from hand to hand.  
If thou canst tune thy fiddle, clear thy throat,  
Perhaps in time, a round skirt piebald coat  
May hide thy faults, then wilt thou pay thy score,  
Musitioner? thou'rt fiddler then no more.   

But pray thee tell me, wast not thou of late  
With roaring blades, and every one for's mate  
A doxy trull? when they did dance and drink  
Excess of wine? and boiling o'er the brink,  
They sought out hell: he was much like to thee,  
That covered sin to gain a Panders fee.  
When they went in, it was not their intent  
To graft their shame, the Drawer did consent  
To draw them in; thy did not think to do it,  
Thy fiddling, with the wine, provok'd'em to it.   

Thou art no Thief, yet thou dost steal men's time,  
Their honesty, their coin to buy a crime.  
Thou art no Cheat, but this all men may know,  
For what they give, they've nothing left to show,  
Thou art no Bawd, but yet a bawdy song  
Thou'lt chatter out, if wine stop not thy tongue.  
Thou art no Beggar, but thou dost invade,  
And trench most grossly on the beggar's trade.  
Crowd, crowd away, let us thy absence borrow:  
Then thou mayst play to night, and beg to morrow.    

SECT. 44. To an impudent whore that came into an Inn, and clipped and kissed a man before company.  

THou shameless Hag, why dost present thy ghost  
In this frequented place? is this a coast  
Where night-hags use to meet? or art thou come  
To show the foulness of the fall of some?  
Or art thou sent from hell (our faults to spy)  
To drink a hogshead, 'cause the place is dry?  
Or (Ignis Fatuus) like that foolish fire,  
Wouldst draw us from the way into the mire?  
Whence cam'st thou? tell me, turn thyself about?  
Thy face doth conjure, and thy eyes dart out  
Such beams of lightning that it makes me wonder!  
Is't not a messenger before a thunder?  
What skin is it thou wear'st? I pray thee tell,  
Art thou the ghost of painted jesabel?  
Or didst come newly from the Serpent's den,  
To parley about a truce and peace with men?  
Or art thou come to blaze abroad thy name?  
Wouldst keep a school to teach the simple shame?  
Or art a glow-worm, only seen at night?  
Or art a seeming substance to the sight?  
Can any spirit drink a round carouse?  
What say minehost? Do spirits haunt your house?  
I judge thou art none by thy humane tones;  
Besides I know a spirit hath no bones.  
What art thou then? an Angel, or a devil?  
No, they are spirits too, they'll show thy evil.  
A Hag, a woman-sepent, and possessed  
With hell above ground: titles fits thee best,  
That suits thy nature. Hellhounds do I know  
Break loose sometimes, but yet they dwell below:  
They're shaped with shame: none did I ever see him,  
Of all the brood so impudent as thee.  
What, old acquaintance met? 'las! thou must kiss  
Thou didst in Newgate or in Bridewell miss him.  
Hast no regard to company, that thou  
Art bend to shame a bashful devil now?  
Thy hands are snares. Oh! let me never find  
Or hear thy like in any woman kind!   

Sin is ashamed, and hell's almost afraid  
It shall be questioned, thou art not dismayed.  
Heaven sees thee, dost not blush? what, past all fear?  
Dost think to make a prey of any here?  
We hate thy looks, (thou sordid trull) and vex  
To see shame grounded in the female sex.  
What charm dost use? thy beauty is not rich;  
What art to draw, except thou art a witch?  
Get, get thee gone, thou learned of hell to woo,  
Thou'dst feign be laid, and yet be common too.  
Go to the brink of hell to act thy sin.  
Not stir? my Muse, pray call the Beadles in  
To take her to correction: if this whore,  
After the whip, shall sin as heretofore,  
And lay her baits; yet bid her (if she durst)  
Catch any one that's not from God accursed.  
Let all that hope for heaven, have a care,  
And shun the bait, as they'd avoid the snare.  
The subtle devil sets apart such elves  
To do that work they cannot do themselves,  
To join in lust, they want bones, flesh and blood,  
Nor have they throats to tumble down a flood  
Of wine or beer: although these sins be rife,  
Say, was the devil drunk in all his life,  
Except it were with pride? he keeps no whore,  
Nor did ne'er, but to torment them more  
Than sin e'er joyed 'em: in the vault of hell,  
They'll find that place far worse than New Bridewell.  
While I digressed, the quean was slunk away:  
My Muse had spoke more, but sh'was loath to stay.    

SECT. 45. A Parley between Nature and Fame, about an insatiable man, and of a modest man, being abused by queans.  N. 

WHat is this man that courts this nasty whore?   F. 

I spread his fame, but never saw'm before:  
He's swarthy black, and yellow, and his looks  
Do show he studies harlots more than books.   N. 

Why, he's too old, his wanton days are past.   F. 

He'll never leave't while life and strength do last.   N. 

How does he scape the law? he has been in.   F. 

It purged his purse, but could not purge his sin.   N. 

Has he done penance yet, to blaze his name?   F. 

No, by his money he defers his shame.   N. 

Was he cursed from the Church i'th' sight of men?   F. 

Yes; but by money he came in again.   N. 

What, is he married that he keeps this vice?   F. 

He's married now, he has been married twice.   N. 

Is this the Trull he keeps? is't only she?   F. 

One will not serve, he must have two or three.   N. 

'Tis marvel his wife can bear't! doth she not show  
Her grievance to the world? doth she not know  
How to be eased? F. Alas! she cannot find  
A remedy to ease her grieved mind:  
He slights her weeping, and he keeps her bare,  
With poor apparel, and with courser fare.   N. 

What children hath he? F. Divers; 'mong the res:  
He hath a son religious; 'cause he's best,  
He hates him most: if he'd but love a whore,  
He'd be his father, and affect him more.   N. 

What means has he? F. He had much, but 'tis spent,  
Most of it upon whores! 'tis his intent  
To make an end on't, if he live a while.   N. 

'Tis strange the earth should bear a man so vile  
What shall his children do, if he spends all?   F. 

Why, let'em work, or beg, or hang'em all.   N. 

Can any father be so much o'erseen,  
To slight his flesh and blood? or in a spleen,  
Run out of all? or for his lustful pleasure?  
Turn to a grave to bury all his treasure?  
Has he no care of credit? does his name  
Rot while he lives? doth not his conscience blame  
Him for his faults? hath he no soul to save?  
What, is he sworn to be the Devil's slave?  
Is nature lost? or is't congealed to lust?   F. 

He has been burned: e'er long he'll turn to dust.   N. 

What servants doth he keep? F. Some two, or three,   N. 

Have they their wages paid? do they agree?   F. 

He's inward with his maids, until they swell,  
But then he'll curse them to the pit of hell,  
And turne'em out of doors: they must away  
Without their wages. He wants coin to pay.   N. 

How deals he with his men? F. Almost as bad;  
An honest man of late (I heard) he had,  
Who, in his heart, still did abhora a whore,  
And therefore he was bend to vex him more.   N. 

How did he vex him? F. To a bawdy house,  
(Where he did use to come for Mutton souse)  
He brought this man: when he perceived what place  
It was; and thinking what a foul disgrace  
'Twould bring to him; he turned himself about;  
His master spying him a going out,  
Called him again; What, wilt thou leave me so?  
Pray take a cup of liquor ere you go.   

He called a quean, and whispered in her care,  
She knew his mind; and being many there,  
She flew upon him, scratched him with her nails;  
He felt their hands, because he loathed their tail,  
They were possessed all with the Devil's mind,  
If he had had no help, sh'had scratched him blind.  
They beat him too; ('twas hard to be endured)  
Then bid him look a Surgeon to be cured.   N. 

What cause had they? did they pretend a jest?   F. 

You must not look for reason in a beast.  
Such vermin do so venom, with a touch  
They'll blast a man; there's too too many such.   N. 

How scaped he from'em? was he freed by strength;   F. 

The case being foul, a Gentleman at length,  
Redeemed him from their claws; and he for fear,  
Ran out of doors, and never came more there.   N. 

Where stayed his master? F. He was in that place:  
For 'twas his plot, to bring him to disgrace.   N. 

How was his carriage? F. He was like to burst  
With laughing at it. How is he accursed!  
Oh! beastly act! how does my soul abhor it!   N. 

Do they not fear they shall be questioned for it?  
Our Laws be sharp enough, I wish they may  
Be executed too; let such a day  
Be kept in mind, writin a bloody letter!  
To shame them ever, or to make them better.  
They do not fear the Laws of God, nor man:  
If Law doth search them, they have friends that can  
Soon free them from't: if not, they'll ne'er relent,  
Before the sin bring home the punishment:  
Humanitie's banished from'em; let it find  
Sweet entertainment in the honest mind!   

You shameless hags! come, answer at the bar,  
Was his face made for your foul claws to mar?  
The Devil has long talons, so have you,  
He taught you how to use them, is't not true?  
He durst not do so much, not being bid:  
Y'had no command, nor leave, and yet you did.  
A beast (though wild) is daunted at the sight  
Of living man; 'tis hungry appetite  
That makes him prey upon him: what desire  
Could move you to this fact, except hell fire  
Was kindled in your hearts? with hell's consent  
You spit your fury on the innocent.   

What, was't to show how bravely you were bred?  
Or else 'cause you'll be talked on when you're dead?  
Thened had been seen more in a single duel,  
Not six to one: but cowards are most cruel.  
D'ye think to scape so? no, you'll find this thing  
Shall fly abroad upon the nimble wing  
Of infamy: you'll pay the fine beside,  
With smart to boot, when e'er the cause be tried.  
To please the Lecher you consented: how?  
Because you think h'has brought you money now.  
But if you find there's nothing to be had,  
I think next time you'll serve him full as bad.  
I know you kick, because I touch the sore;  
But if you by't, I'll rub it five times more.    

SECT. 46. Of a man's discontent at his wife's lewdness: his travel into the Netherlands: and how his wife was married to another in his absence; and of his return, and complaints thereupon.  

A man that was sore vexed with a wife,  
(A wife? a whore she was that bred the strife)  
That he was weary of his life, yet had  
No hope to turn her, though she were so bad;  
Which did increase his grief, and break his sleep:  
And waking, sought out corners where to weep.  
She slighted him; nay, when she saw him vexed,  
She'd jeer him still, which made him werse perplexed,   

At last in secret, full of discontent,  
His grief broke out, and thus he did lament.  
Alas! alas! I am undone for ever!  
Delights adieu! but grief will leave me never,  
For angry Fate hath all my fortunes cro'st,  
My shame appears, but I myself am lost:  
I'm forced to yield, and so I must abide it,  
My shame breaks out; alas! I cannot hide it.  
I thought I had been happy; but I see  
That scene is done: this acts my misery!  
Fate is a Tyrant, else he'd never bring  
Shame on the guiltless; but the guilty sting.  
Fortune's a partial goddess; then who can  
Say, who'll be quit, or who's the guilty man?  
I have corrivals; should not they be blamed,  
And suffer for't? but ay, alas, am shamed!  
They act the sin in climbing to my bed;  
Yet I for that must wear horns on my head.  
I cannot pass, but boys will point at me;  
But the delinquents, they scape ever free.  
My house is grown my prison; but what's worse,  
My wife's a common whore, which breeds the curse,   

Heavens look down upon me! that I may  
Have light, and aid, from her to scape away,  
Into some cell remote; where I may dwell,  
And spend my days, my miseries to tell!  
Let Morpheus hide me with his coal-black shade,  
I may no more a laughing stock be made!  
I'm borne to crosses; and alas! poor I  
Must be content to kiss my cross, and die!   

He thus distressed, to mitigate his woe,  
At last-resolves, that to the sea he'll go:  
He has some hope he shall forget this whore:  
She hopes as much that he'll come home no more,  
As yet, the wind breathes a contrary gust,  
Against his will: then stay a while he must.  
She feared his mind was changed, because he stayed;  
And for his voyage thus at last she prayed:   

Hang, hang this Stag's head! what, he'll ne'er away;  
For ought I see, he is resolved to stay.  
No way e'er to be freed of this cross knave,  
That I in's absence may my pleasure have?   

You Gods that rule the winds, grant me this boon,  
Take him away; I do not care how soon!  
Fill full the sails: you gentle Sailors stand,  
Receive your fare, and take him from this land!  
Make haste away, and launch into the deep;  
Alas! while then, I can nor eat, nor sleep!  
Then let the seaborn Goddess plead my cause!  
I am a Nymph that do embrace her laws.  
Let Neptune's bosom still his prison be,  
And lofty waves embrace him! let not me  
Fear his return! let Sharks and Dolphins part  
His flesh betwixt them! that will ease my heart.  
Or else let raging storms his body sever;  
I care not which: so I may see him never.  
If none of those will yield to my request,  
Yet in this last, I hope I shall be blest.  
You Netherlands, enclose with dust his bones,  
Through want, or sword! I'll end my suit and moans.   

Well, gone he is, winds see you gently use him,  
You Sailors rude, take heed, do not abuse him.  
The Goddess is but feigned, nor knows she how  
To heal or hurt: she hath no power now.  
Nor yet great Neptune; (let's have no mistaking)  
For all his power is of Poets making.  
Nor can the storms destroy men when they list;  
There's one above that holds them in his fist,  
Of in the Netherlands; I speak to men,  
Pray use him well, or send him home again!   

But whither strays my Muse, and wandering quill?  
Come home, search out that whore, and blaze her ill:   

This hateful quean keeps open rande vou;  
Come Tag, and Rag; and she is common too.  
Her tabl'es spread, to entertain all comers,  
And thus she lived one winter, and two sommers,  
Till all was spent; and somewhat else beside  
Did gnaw her bones; rot met with lust and pride.  
She thought, or hoped her husband now was dead,  
She cannot lie alone, but must be wed.  
Alas poor whore! as yet she had no suitor;  
Her man was bashful, she became his tutor  
To draw him on: for daily she did woo him,  
She had her will, and that was to undo him.   

Undone indeed! for in a little while  
He was so shameless, impudent, and vile  
He cared for no man; no man cared for him,  
Disease stuck close which made his sight grow dim,  
Then he would swear, and curse his soryed fate,  
Till at the last his speech grew out of date.  
Death warned him hence, he would not be denied,  
He lived a brute, and now a beggar died.   

The Epitaph.  
Death, now I see thou art not palate nice;  
Thou canst digest, what I would loath to touch,  
Such commons we'll allow thee at the price;  
Leave dainty cates, and feed upon all such.  
Grave, thou didst well to plaster up his sore;  
He being poisoned, might have poisoned more.   

But yet this hag remains, and she must have  
Another husband; and her wants do crave  
Relief; for all her night-birds now are scattered,  
Their wings cut short, and some their noses battered,  
She casts her hook; sh'had almost catch a fish,  
But that the broth was hot, or else the dish  
Was broken ware; so that with very fear  
He slipped the hook, and never came more there.   

She left her angle then; and cast a net,  
With baits to try, if she could any get:  
She knew of what, and where such fish would feed;  
And at the last she catcht a jack in deed.  
You know my meaning, she has got another,  
She'll serve him too, just as she served the other.   

She had her Bridegroom but a little space,  
He was as desp'erat as he's void of grace,  
Learning of her: he joyed in all that's evil:  
And having got acquaintance with the Devil,  
He played his part a time; until his reins  
Had entertained the French; his shallow brains  
Grown addle too; his skin from's flesh did peel:  
I can but think what torments he did feel!  
The earth denied to bear him, those that spied him;  
Did stop their noses, all men did deride him.  
The grave is open, against his glass is ran,  
Death turns the Scene, and so his part is done.   

His Epitaph.  
DEvouring grave! what purchase hast thou gotten?  
Or greedy death, what prize is't that he snatched?  
Alas! poor purchase! he before was rotten,  
Death broke the duel, seeing him o'er matched.  
G: D: weare both his friends; for why? we did agree  
To take him now: and save the hang man's see.  
And now this strumpet hath outlived her pleasure,  
What she hath done, so she receives like measure:  
In her the fury of the foul disease  
Begins to reign: the earth can give no ease,  
And heaven will not; hell would fain be dealing  
With her disease; but there's no hope of healing.  
Her teeth break forth, all creatures do contemn her;  
And with consent, they all at once condemn her.  
The little children, that can say no more,  
Will prattle out, and say, There goes a whore.  
She doth some good yet, I will ne'er belly her;  
The Goldsmith's like to get some money by her;  
In making for her mouth a silver stud;  
Her palat's down, and yet she'd chew the cud.  
Some say 'tis good (I think they do but dote)  
To keep the pox from rifling of her throat.  
But others say (nor can I agree with those)  
'Twil keep her speech from creeping through her nose.  
Though't bring her ease, pray, whatsoever you do,  
Keep silence; else the rest will use it too.   

The Goldsmith's come, the plate is very fit,  
Had he been careless, she had taught him wit:  
(For she was painted with a dainty colour)  
And paid him like that whore that paid the Sculler,  
He set it in: but being such a stink,  
He stopped his nose, for he was like to sink.  
And having done, receiving then his pay,  
He quickly parted; though she bid him stay,  
He was too wise: as he his leave did take,  
He past his word her teeth should never ache.  
'Twas but a jeer: for they were slunk aside,  
For shame: or they the stink could not abide.  
A fearful case! although she's seen of many,  
She has nor favour, nor regard from any.  
And like an owl, she keeps her hole; the light  
Is hateful to her, but she walks at night.   

But stay, I hear her husband's new come over,  
Where landed he? at Gravesend? or at Dover?  
What matter ist? he will be here to morrow,  
Come when he will, he'll come but to his sorrow.  
He's come poor man! pray bid him welcome; why?  
'Cause by his travels, he hath learned to die.  
But being come, he heard such heavy news  
Which killed his heart; and yet he could not choose  
But listen to't; how she had driven a trade,  
How she had proved herself a common jade;  
And had the grincoms: she'd been married twice;  
And how they died; and yet she kept her vice.  
How she was toothed; & how her mouth was mended:  
Then looking pale, just as the news was ended,  
His spirits failed him: by degrees he sunk,  
Down to the ground; and then steps in this punk,  
To bid him welcome home: but having strived  
To over come his passion, he revived:  
He turned about, and spying her, he broke  
His grieved mind, and to her this he spoke:   

Away, thou sordid witch! dost come to me  
To add a weight unto my misery?  
Thou hate full hag! hast not undone me quite?  
I for thy sake am like a child of night!  
Thousorceresse! the cause of all my strife;  
Thou liv'st (though dead) nor widow, maid, nor wife.  
'Tis known thou art a common trull; thy name  
Is blazed by time, poor I must bear the shame.  
Thou dost increase my torments! as for mirth  
'Tis banished quite; thou art my hell on earth.  
Go fiend of darkness (none like thee I know  
For hellbred vileness) to thy place below.  
Who can deny thouart an incarnate Devil?  
Out of my sight, I'm overpre'st with evil!   

The house being dispossessed, yet, still his grief  
Swelled o'er the brink; nor could he find relief  
In this distress: yet secretly he groaned!  
With trickling tears, thus he his case bemoaned.   

Time, standest thou still? shake, shake thy sand apace  
Drive on with fury, I may end my race:  
Grant me this boon, and place will then agree:  
Or let me know my date of misery.  
Will Sea, nor Land, nor person end my strife?  
Nor Fowl, nor Beast of prey once take my life?  
I cannot call it pity: no, 'tis spleen,  
To let meling ere thus! my sorrow's seen;  
Yet not lamented. Death is grown a stranger,  
If he'd come once, I should be quit from danger.  
Death, armethy self with strength; 'tis but a blow:  
The gentle grave hath made my bed below.  
I fear thouart bribed, my adversaries may  
Have time to laugh, ere thou tak'st me away,  
Am I not worth a stroke? or am I grown  
Tco stale a bit: for thee to swallow down?  
I must be thine; come, ease me of this curse!  
The longer here I live, I am the worse!  
My suing makes thee coy to show thy face;  
But those that seek thee not thou dost embrace:  
They die but once, but every day a death  
Thou hast for me; yet still I draw my breath.   

I die with grief! but this I truly find  
Th'more deaths I die, the more there are behind.  
Dying I went, and dying I came hither!  
Strike not so oft, but do it altogether.  
Thus said, he stopped; grief did arrest his tongue.  
Blame not my Muse, for staying by ' imsolong.    

SECT. 47. Of a man that fell to decay in the World, through his excess; and how his wife turned Hackney, and he a Pander.  

A Man that carried breadth to raise his name,  
(Time made him drop quite from the wings of fame)  
He led the world awhile, and made a dust:  
(Some think because he did the Courtiers trust  
Made him stand by) in time a good estate  
Was lent, and spent; he lived at such a rate,  
That men admired; and he had a wife,  
For diet, and apparel was at strife  
T'exceed her betters: she must have a fan,  
Her gowns of silk, her costly rings, her man  
To wait upon her: in this lofty strain  
She laid it on, nor did she mind the main.  
Of alteration she did never think,  
She'd have her will, her purse still full of chink.  
She had a beauty, she too well did know it,  
She scorns to keep it up: in love she'll show it  
Unto the world: and some for gold may use it.  
Should she be niggardly, she must abuse it  
(As she conceives) she keeps her private trading,  
To help at need; her husband's trade is fading.  
Nature (she thinks) is fain to take direction,  
To limb her parts, and work by her complexion.   

Now he is urged to pay what he doth owe;  
Creditors come thick; debts come in but slow.  
He strives a time, with all that he can do,  
He cannot choose, but he must break in two.  
His shop's shut up, goods gone, but where's the man?  
He's stepped aside: but find him if you can.  
Let time betray him, I will ne'er reveal him;  
My Tell-tale Muse is bound now to conceal him.  
To sum up what he owed is but in vain,  
(Unless there were some hopes the debts to gain)  
Or show the parcels, or to name the men  
He owed it to, (they'll never trust again.)  
Or of their meetings, how they cur'st such debtors,  
And how they vowed to put his shanks in fetters  
If ere they catcht him: how they went about  
To sue the Statute of a Bankrupt out:  
What debts were due to him, how few were good,  
How those lamented that engaged stood  
For such as he; how he at last was found,  
Or how he offered eighteen pence i'th' pound:  
The time he lay in prison, or the need  
That he was in; how they at last agreed:  
How he was changed, the creepers that he had,  
Or how his mind, was every whit as bad;  
How he was slighted, now he was so poor,  
And how he scorned every man before.  
I'll pass them all: my Muse was going hence,  
She's turned again to make you recompense.   

Now in this time, his wife hath found a way  
That they may live as merry as the day;  
If he'll consent; her beauty hath been seen,  
By one of note; and like a demy-queene  
He does respect her; she is come to know  
Her worth at large, nor will she look so low  
As he hath done: now time hath blazed her fame,  
She'll venture broken ware, and trade with shame.  
Upon return she runs her tail ashore,  
Yet deals by retail as she did before.   

There's one will venture with her, that hath tried  
How she will truck, he will not be denied.  
If he can get the cuckold to consent,  
And keep the door, he'll give him good content.  
He shall not break again, nor ever be  
Constrained to suffer any misery:  
He'll give him money, pay his rent beside,  
Bear all his charges, only he must hide  
His foul offence: he must be blind, or wink  
When ere he comes, and into corners slink  
Till such an hour: that Pimp doth know his time,  
He'll nor be seen till they have done the crime.  
The children call him father—  
Hush not a word, perhaps the man is great  
And stored with wealth, and has a lofty seat,  
And loves his lust; or being serpent wise,  
He'll take advantage, then he'll tyrannize.   

Though he be great, if goodness be forgotten,  
'Twill make him and his name the sooner rotten.  
If he have wealth, 'tis but an empty thing,  
Nor will it save him from that fearful sting  
Of sin and death: if honour 'tis he'd have,  
Can any honour keep men from the grave?  
Though he be set aloft, yet down he must,  
And be e'er long laid level with the dust:  
Or if he loves his lust, the sooner he  
May fall by 't, and the shame and misery  
Will dog him to his end! his soul will bleed!  
Oh! then he'll meet one that is great indeed.  
Though he be wise to raise a horrid evil,  
And crush a truth; 'tis the soul murdering devil  
That helps him in't: oh heaven, blast that arm,  
That takes a cause to do the guiltless harm!  
Such tyrants that rebel against the laws,  
They can but snarl, for God cuts off their claws.   

Our laws do cut lascivious persons down;  
Not cobweb laws, that men of great renown  
May break by force; they are not made for flies;  
The Rich, the Noble, if they do despise  
The force of them; shall quickly feel the smart:  
They are no scarecrows, but they'll pierce the heart.   

Me thinks th'example of a gracious king  
Might draw men's hearts from this accursed thing.  
So chaste, soloving to his Royal Queen,  
In any age no sweeter pattern seen.  
Who would but follow! (Lord preserve his life)  
Was ever Prince more faithful to a wife?  
Oh, let this pattern keep us all in awe!  
Who has such power? who yields more to the law?  
All men can judge, in this I do not flatter:  
If any Critic does, it is no matter.  
You Cynic brood, should I (for fear of you)  
Hide truth that's plain? let Princes have their due.   

Here I could dwell, but love constrains my will  
To leave his praises to an abler quill.  
But if the practice of so sweet a Prince  
Will not prevail, such sinners to convince;  
Then let his Sceptre fall upon all those,  
Let them be numbered with his hateful foes?  
My Muse is only bend against this sin;  
If by her chide she can any win  
From hel's wide mouth, and keep some back from thence  
Good words will serve, to make a recompense.  
She tries her skill, and bears the pain, and cost;  
If she prevail not, 'tis but labour lost.  
The med'cin's sharp, the Patients must endure.  
A desperate wound must have a desperate cure.   

But to return back to the Imp again,  
(My Muse is full, and overcharged with pain  
To vent her mind:) me thinks I spy him yonder,  
It should be he, he looks so like a pander;  
'Tis he, 'tis he, now I will break my mind,  
Call Satyrs too, and pay him in his kind.   

Thou fowlbred vassal I was there any age  
That ever brought thy like upon the stage?  
Dost sell thyself, and put to sale thy name?  
What is thy gain, but never dying shame?  
Thou pawn'st thy soul and all; dost think to dwell  
For ever here? oh! who shall fill up hell  
But shameless vermin! these thy hateful crimes  
Shallmake thy name the canker of the times.  
Thy wife's a whore; thou art consenting to it,  
The guilt will catch thee, with a curse to do it.  
I never knew a villain in my life  
Before, that was a pander to his wife.  
Whore's will increase, if they can be so hid,  
And speed as well as I. O. B. N. did.   

Speak, doth she play the whore by thy command?  
Or art thou forced in fear of her to stand?  
Or is't for maintenance? or else the care  
Thou hast to pack off rotten broken ware?  
Art thou bewitched? or low of stature borne  
That she must raise thee higher by the horn?  
Art thou no cuckold, in thy dull conceit,  
Unless thou bear'st upon thy back the weight  
To make her common? or hast thou a mind  
To follow whores, and pay her in her kind?  
That makes but hell the hotter; is't not true?  
Except thou turn, hellfire is thy due?  
There thou wilt meet thy sin, and thou shalt see,  
The devil will commit a rape on thee.  
Thou lt curse thy wife, if hell once grasp that whore,  
Cerberus will like a Pander keep the door.  
Such sinners stay not long, the earth denies  
Them room to tread on; away the air flies,  
And leaves them breath less; hell her fee will crave;  
The earth is vexed t' afford such Imps a grave!  
Where sin makes way, death is invited thither,  
They are acquainted, and they go together.  
Thy customers will fail, leave thee accursed,  
Then thou wilt break worse than thou didst at first.  
Thou'lt be but sport for boys, and scorn for all,  
And who will then be grieved at thy fall?  
They'll point and say, this Pimp of late did swagger,  
And roar about, but now he's grown a beggar.  
He wants his capons, pigeons, choice of wine,  
And suits of silk, he's bare, and like to pine.   

And when the whore with shame is turned thus off,  
(Old and diseased.) she'll be the common scoff:  
She'll slily wander up and down the street,  
And trade for three pence: if she can but meet  
Some simple gull that's newly grown in date,  
She'll rise to six pence; or a higher rate.  
She cannot work but only with her tail,  
And when her truck for three pence once doth fail,  
Perhaps she'll use her hands, and learn to palter,  
And end her days in Bridewell, or a halter.   

But if you both enjoy your pleasures here,  
And suck the sweet of sin, being free from fear,  
And spend your days in pomp, and that you have  
Enough to build a Record o'er your grave;  
Alas! what is't besides your living shame?  
Then who are winners? reckon not the game  
Before 'tis played. Some died in state, we know,  
That had their graves in flaming hell below.  
They took their leaves of pleasures, and they go  
From painted joys, into eternal woe.  
Leave sin in time (and do your best endeavour  
To purge your souls) or sin will sink you ever.  
Time calls away (adieu) I think you're vexed,  
I'll speak more freely when I meet you next.    

SECT. 48. Of a black impudent Slut that more a dressing of fair hair on her head, and black patches on her wrinkled tallow-face; and her reply answered.  

WHat is this Imp that trades in borrowed ware?  
She's black like darkness, trimmed with morning hair,  
Speak, art not thou a hateful bird of night?  
Or art a Viper? or with seeming light  
Dost think to gull the world, t'increase thy hire?  
Thou canst not cozen nature: thy desire  
Is fruitless, vain; thine black was known to be,  
Like Cypress shade; the borrow'd's light like thee.  
But pray thee tell me, is thine own outworn,  
Being often overheat? or only shorn,  
Because 'twas black ' or else because the grey  
Was ming led with it? thou didst changeed away  
For private reasons, 'cause it ever told  
The truth of thee, in saying thou were told;  
And thou wouldst still be young, and that betrayed thee:  
Thou shouldst have done't before time had bewrayed thee,  
Didst thou disdain what nature did bestow  
On thee as dowry? didst thou never know  
'Twas nearest thy complexion? was't not strange  
To leave thy own and take the worst in change?  
Mubh like a snake oregrown with age, and than  
Thou'dst cast thy skin, and so grow fresh again.   

But couldst thou change thy skin, than thou mightst pass  
For currant ware, though thou art nasty trash;  
But then all must be changed, thy theeths, thine eyes,  
Thy wrinkles must be filled, and that which lies  
Forsaked of the blood, must be renewed:  
Thy veins must show themselves; all must be viewed,  
If this were done, thou mightst be kept for store,  
Than who durst take thee for a common whore?  
Besides, thy name must quite be changed too,  
(Though't be a trick, as queans do use to do)  
Or else for Names-sake, thou must bear the stain,  
And none will speak to thee but in disdain.   

These are but words of course; nor can it be  
Time should consent to paint a hide for thee.  
Suit with thyself, cast off thy purcha'st ' hair,  
Wear what's thine own; if Nature leaves thee bare,  
Hide still thy head; leave off thy lust and pride,  
Ot thou'lt be wondered at when thou art spied.   

Nay, more I say, the patches on thy face  
Do show thy folly, speak to thy disgrace.  
What, dost thou think them to be ornaments?  
Or that they're like to further thy intents?  
Or vile desires? thy furrowed cheeks are yellow;  
Thy beetle brows are coloured just like tallow.   

The graceless crew, and all the roaring Sparks,  
Know black, and yellow, are not beauties marks.  
I am afraid (but take it as a wipe)  
Thy patches show that thou art rotten ripe.  
Pull off thy plasters, for they cover scabs,  
Which are the marks (oft times) of lust full drabs.   

Who taught thee't? was't a witch, a whore or devil?  
For such are forwardest in all kind of evil.  
(The poisoning witch that did to Tyburn march,  
Was held the first, that brought up yellow starch)  
Did Turnbull street first find it? tell me then  
Is't not a hide-shame made to poison men?  
Or did the trulls of Shoreditch find it first?  
To trap poor gulls? speak who? if any durst.  
It is conceived 'twas used at first by those,  
To hide the grincomes, or a pocky nofc.  
What servest thou for? but to disgrace the age  
Or t'make a puppet, t'act the suries rage?  
thou'dst better buy some painting, there's some made,  
Both red, and white, by one that drives the trade:  
'Tis very cheap; and common whores may have it;  
And being cheap, the Gallants will not crave it:  
'Tis very stiff: the worst is in the close,  
'Tis tempered with the droppings of her nose.  
Thou must not use it cold, for so 'tis ill:  
First warm thyself in Bridewell at the mill,  
Or at the hemp-block, and thy grain being rough,  
Will drink it in; so done, it's dainty stuff.  
I would have holp thee to't, hadst thou not vexed;  
Cashier thy spots, and when I meet thee next,  
I'll tell thee where 'tis sold. Thy black within  
Is worse than that; which are the spots of sin,  
But these do represent thee to the level  
Of eyes, and thoughts, to be a female devil.  
Thou art not like to hell; for this I know,  
Thy face is full of springs, thou burnest below;  
But yet 'tis strange, although the water's higher,  
And constant runs it cannot quench the fire!   

Hold her, she's mad my friends; pray come not near her,  
Her chaps doewag, she'll speak, stand still and hear her   

Is Bedlam broke? or art thou now grown mad?  
You saucy jack! am I? am I so bad  
As thou wouldst make me? no, I scorn thy prate,  
Sir, stay your clack, your boldness I do hate.  
thouart either mad, or drunk, I'll pawn my life,  
Or else thou wouldst not sow nor stir up strife,  
thouart both I see; Tom simple's mad or mellow:  
A drunken man is still the busiest fellow  
The earth affords; hadst thou not lost thy wits,  
I for a need could show some Bedlam fits  
To make thee wild; but modesty restrains me:  
Am I a whore? who is it that disdains me?  
What though I wear a dressing on my head  
Of other hair? I did not rob the dead,  
Nor borrow it for time: the truth I'll tell,  
'T was given me by one that loved me well:  
If he were here my part he'd quickly take,  
And make thee run: ay we are it for his sake.   

All helps that nature can to give content.  
May we not use?, this is my ornament.  
Thou dost not like my looks; then keep away  
Till I send for thee; time may come I may  
Take just revenge; but till thy brains are settled  
I will not do't; then, faith I'll have thee nettled.  
Thou railst against the patches on my face  
Which are by wiser judged to be a grace.  
I'd have you know, you idle prating fool,  
I did not go to learn at shoreditch school;  
Nor yet at Clarkenwell, but at the Court  
Where Ladies oft, and gallants do resort  
To learn new fashions: there thou dost abuse  
What Ladies with myself, and gallants use:  
If 'twere so bad as thou wouldst make it, than  
It would not be esteemed amongst gentlemen.  
Thou durst not for thy life speak half so much  
To courtly gallants; nor to any such  
That are of Noble birth: thy rude proceeding  
Does show, thou ne'er didst taste of gentle breeding.  
Abuse a gentlewoman! my fingersitch!  
Is spark, or Lady, devil, whore, or witch?  
Say't if thou dar'st: for they first found it out,  
Therefore'tis lawful: Why should any doubt?  
Whate'er I do I have examples for it:  
What matter is't though threadbare fools abhor it  
What thou hast said, I swear I'll make thee prove it:  
But for the Law, 'tis known I do npt love it.  
Nor will I rare myself so low; the prize  
Is not worth winning! hang't 'tis all but lies:  
Go, get thee gone, I pay for rent and diet:  
What, in my chamber can I not be quiet?   

Pray mistress hackney, cool your grease a little,  
A gentlewoman rail! you learnt at spittle.  
I am not mad (in giving you your due)  
(Nor yet a fool) I speak but that that's true.  
Thy false attire does but spread thy name,  
Thy patches do not hide, but note thy shame:  
Thy hair's a token, given by a friend,  
That, and thy patches, mark thee like a fiend,  
Thy reckon hauled, which shows thou art a wench,  
Whose face is Negro-like, whose head speaks French,  
If Ladies use it, can they set thee free  
From death? or hell? or any misery?  
Will gallants plead, and say it is no sin?  
Let loser's prate, say, didst thou ever win  
Respect from any by't? examples do  
Bespeak a hell, and make thee guilty too.  
I cannot think, that Courtiers are such sots  
To borrow heads, or trim themselves with spots,  
Unless they're old, or by mischance grown bare;  
Or t'hide some faults: 'twill help such crazy ware.  
I will not answer what thy viprous tongue  
Hath muttered out, though thou hast done me wrong.  
ist not too much that thou so long hast been  
A prostitute? and dost thou now begin  
T'rake hell afresh, because thy old sin leaves thee  
Against thy will? till death of life bereaves thee,  
Who can expect thy change? hell longs to greet thee  
Adieu; take heed, the devil comes to meet thee.    

SECT. 49. Of a Band that hired a Maid, and not proving to her expectation, she accuseth her of theft.  

A modest maid that had a comely face,  
And all her parts well suited with such grace  
As freed her from defect; so was her mind  
Enriched with virtue, few she came behind.  
Her fortunes were but poor, being meanly bred:  
Of means sh'had little store, her friends were dead  
To service she must go, no other way  
She has to live, unless she'd go astray;  
But that she hated. As she went abroad  
To seek a place, she met a common bawd,  
Who did salute her thus:   

What ails my pretty maid to look so sad?  
What, all amort? fie, this is too too bad!  
Pluck up thy heart, and chide away thy folly:  
Tho'lt spoil thy face, if thou growest melancholy.  
thou'rt fatherlosse, 'tis true, but what of that?  
Cast of thy dumps, for care will kill a cat.  
Come, dwell with me, I'll be to thee a mother,  
I'll thee maintain, thou needst not care for other;  
I'll give thee so much wages, thou shalt find it  
Twice doubled too; hold, here's a piece to bind it.   

This harmless soul mistrusting nothing less  
Than what she most intended; to express  
Her thankfulness, she did receive the gold,  
(Yet craving pardon that she was so bold)  
And soon consented; thought herself so blessed,  
That Fate could never alter nor molest  
Her happiness. Then home with her she went,  
And spent some time in civil merriment.  
The mistress and the maid so well agreed,  
With good discourse, and scripture too for need  
The bawd could use: and little work to do,  
The maid liked that; her fate was costly too.   

But yet ere long, finding what house she kept,  
What guests came in by night, what vermin crept  
About in holes; and how they feared the watch,  
How she was tempted, how they strived to catch  
Her at advantage; she resolved at length  
(Fearing she should be tempted past her strength)  
To leave her promised hopes; she valued more  
Her honesty, than all ill gotten store.  
Her eyes dropped pearly tears, her heart did ache,  
Which curbed her tongue awhile, at last she spoke:  
Mistress:   

Pray free me now, my mind can never bear  
Such impious crimes, I daily see and hear  
I took you for my friend, you are my foe,  
To seek my ruin thus; pray let me go.  
Are these your proffered favours? let not me  
Share any of them: truth, and honesty  
Shall be my portion: let my punishment  
Be public made, if ever I consent  
To such allurements: how my soul doth hate 'em!  
I'm ashamed to think on't, much more to relate them.  
A bawdy-house! I scorn't! wil't not be said,  
There goes the Bawd, and yonder comes her maid?  
It is a place of note, I must confess:  
Let Bawds be noted more: I noted less.  
Have I not watched all night t'attend a knave,  
And self a whore? ah, what a place I have!  
I see your end was (when you were so free  
With shows of love) to make a whore of me.  
Time shall consume, ere I will once endeaver  
To buy my shame, or sell my soul for ever.  
Here, take your earnest; how was I deceived  
With flattering words! I was of sense bereaved  
By your enchantments: never fool was fonder;  
I did not think to serve nor Bawd, nor Pander.   

With that the choler of the Bawd did rise,  
Her rage grew hot, the sparklings of her eyes  
Like balls of wildfire did present a wonder:  
So much of lightning! yet there comes no thunder.  
Like furious fire that can find no vent,  
Striving for freedom, still the more 'tis penned;  
So was she swelled; her spleen being mixed with gall,  
Which fain she'd vent, yet could not speak at all.  
Her looks were pale with envy; as she stands  
Moving her jaws, and trembling with her hands.  
Her silence vexed her more, she grew more cursed;  
Gild seizeth on her: she must vent, or burst.   

Then turning to the maid, and as she spied her  
Disgorged her spleen, but yet it fell beside her.  
Like roaring Megg discharged, she shakes the ground;  
Or like an empty hogshead, gives more sound  
For being worthless: thus she doth begin:   

This 'tis to take a paltry beggar in:  
Thou beggars brat! what, what hail fellow now?  
You saucy baggidge! go, you dirty sow!  
I took thee up (because thy friends were dead)  
Of charity: and now thou giddy-head,  
Dostslight my love? you scorn to take a turn,  
Thou nothing know'st, yet nothing thou wilt learn.  
Thou mayst do worsc, thou simple fool, thou gull,  
I'd laugh to see thee turn a Tinker's trull.  
Who'd be so troubled with such lazy sluts?  
They're good for nothing, but to mind their guts.  
Will you be gone? I vow I'll have thee banged,  
Thou draggletaile! and then go and be hanged.   

But stay you quean, there's something else behind,  
And that I think which will not please your mind.  
Nay, neverstare, nor put it off with pishes;  
Thou'st lost and melted me ten pewter dishes;  
And broke my China-ware; thou paltry elf;  
Thou'lt ne'er be worth an earthen dish thyself.  
Who burned my gorget minion? waste not you?  
For that alone a whipping is thy due.  
Thou pilf'ring jade, I lately lost two rings,  
With handkerchiefs, and divers other things:  
Who had'em but thyself? I'll swear they're gone:  
'Tis plain thou'st stole them, strangers there came none,   

Nay, do not cry, for crying will not free thee:  
Confess thy faults, and fetch'em, let me see thee.  
But if thou dost refuse, or once deny it,  
I'll shame thee quite; the Sessions, that shall try it.   

Thou arrant thief, I miss a silver bowl;  
Thou hast that too, I dare to pawn my soul:  
How should it else be gone, but by thy hands?  
Thou cozening drab! how like a fool she stands!  
You'll be no whore, fie, fie, you do abhor it;  
A thief thou'lt be; may I not hang thee for it?  
Thy looks speak guilty, and this truth relating,  
Hath cooled thy haughty mind, and spoilt thy prating.  
So said, she stopped: this guiltless maid's in fear;  
Her grief breaks forth, and now and then a tear  
Glides down her cheeks: nor would she have it spied;  
As't falls, still with her handkerchief 'tis dried.  
She turned her face, and did bewail her wrong;  
Feign she would speak, but anguish stayed her tongue.  
Sometimes she thought the justness of her cause  
Would bear her out, but then the rigorous laws  
Would dash her hopes; the cause must there proceed  
By evidence; not as it is indeed.  
She's confident the Bawd will swear a lie:  
What hope's there, but the innocent must die?   

Yet gaining strength, she spoke (for truth breeds trust)  
Why should I think the Gods will prove unjust  
To quit the guilty? bring the innocent  
Upon the stage, to suffer punishment?  
Astrea still remains, to ease my mind;  
Though Poets feign so, justice is not blind.  
Why am I vexed? why, why am I so sad?  
I am accused for what I never had.  
If justice miss the mark, I can but die;  
My virtue lives; thus far resolved am I.   

Then turning to the bawd, she thus replied:  
I'm not the first that ever was belied  
By shameless bawds; you raise an ill report  
Against my life, but Virtue is my fort.  
Had I but seen your bawdry, and been mute,  
Or bent myself to be a prostitute,  
All had been hushed; your handkerchiefs and rings,  
Your silver bowl with sundry other things  
Had ne'er been stolen: nor are they; you are cursed,  
Because I would not yield; but do your worst.  
I'll set you out in colours, and I'll show  
To all the world no more than what I know.  
The Constable and Watchmen found your Imps,  
Your crew of harlots, and your parboiled Pimps;  
And some they took to Bridewell; but the rest  
Flew out like owls to find another nest.  
Yet they were over-taken in their flight,  
Some housed in Wood-street though they flew by night;  
One in the Poultry, though against his will;  
Some to the Fleer, and there they tarry still.   

A handsome girl you saw, and needs you'd buy her;  
Then like a hackney put her out to hire.  
Your house is Sodom-like, and yet withal,  
It seems again to be an Hospital.  
The foul stained bats that sinned there, and endured  
Their punishments, come thither to be cured.  
Some want their sight, some hearing, some their smell,  
Some cannot speak the language plain of hell.  
Some out of date, some tattered, want a fleece,  
Some want a nose, and others but a piece.  
These are the scholars of your Vaulting school:  
And'cause I would not prove myself a fool  
To damn my soul; you'd prove me now a thief.  
I fear you not; for I shall find relief.  
When you shall bear your shame; I pray begin,  
Prefer your bill, put your indictment in.   

Now all this while the bawd amazed stood,  
And looked much like a piece of rotten wood:  
She sweats with envy, but her heart was cold;  
And wondered that the maid could be so bold.  
Her fingers itched, and yet she durst not fight,  
She growled, and snarled, but yet she could not bite.  
Her words she bore in mind, which vexed her heart;  
She'd feign indite her, but she feared the cart.  
Now she resolves to prosecute the maid,  
But then she thinks her bawdry'll be bewrayed.  
Still when her spleen did press her on to do it,  
Shame stops the suit, she had no mind unto it.  
Now she'd proceed, but that she's kept in awe  
With horrid guilt; not does she love the law.  
Then thus she spoke:   

Come, be not vexed, I spoke these words to try thee,  
They're worse than devils that will once belly thee.  
To say the truth (I'll speak what is thy due)  
Thou hast been honest, careful, just, and true.  
Speak well of me, fear not, for I protest,  
Where ere thou art, I'll never thou molest.  
Take what is thine, go, make no more ado.  
The bawd departs, and glad she's 'scaped so too:  
Muse, dog her not, but let me rest my pen:  
For at the Sessions, you may meet again.    

SECT. 50. The Confession of a theiving Whore, at the time of her Execution.  

I Herd of late there was a Hackney jade,  
And for her need, she'd use a theiving trade:  
She scap't a while, but vengeance did assault her,  
Brought her at last i'th' compass of an halter.  
Her life was vile; shame forced her to confess it,  
Gild broke the way, and thus she did express it:   

When I was young (my bringing up was rude)  
My friends did think, that which the multitude  
Did most approve of, that must needs be best;  
I had my will, and so lived like a beast.  
I mocked at goodness; though my father spied it,  
He'd fawn, and laugh; my mother too would hide it.   

Ill company at last caused me to prove  
A prostitute: good nature mixed with love  
'Twas named with us; the father from the son  
I didintice, till both were quite undone.  
I often robbed the father of his child,  
And cursed the mother, though she was most mild.   

I drew the husband from his loving wife:  
That being done, I sowed betwixt them strife.   

And servants from their Masters I did keep;  
We spent their goods whilst they were fast a sleep:  
I made them steal, cheat, pilfer, and purloin:  
How e'er it came, if I could get but coin,  
I never cared; or any man that came  
Which brought but money, I ne'er asked his name,  
Nor what he was, his life, nor where he dwelled:  
He had his will when I his money felt.   

If any one had a good mind to play  
A game in love, and yet was loath to pay;  
I'd pick his pockets; money, or a watch,  
Or any thing of worth that I could catch,  
Was all mine own: but he would ne'er reveal it,  
(For fear of shame) though he knew I did steal it.   

If any one had spent on me his stock,  
Forrecompence, I paid him with a mock:  
And cursed him too; then with a railing scoff  
I sent him packing: thus I cast him off.   

When trading failed, I had a trick as ill,  
I'd cut a purse, or steal, for I had skill  
In all those ways: at last the fowl disease  
Had brought me low, and I could find no ease.  
It grieved my heart, I could no longer sin.  
As I was wont: such case than I was in!   

Yet I resolved to take what e'er was brought  
By highway theives, or cutpurses: I taught  
Them how to do't: housebreakers, or the rest:  
Who e'er was most expert, was my chief guest.  
The cheating crew, did make me their receiver,  
For whoredom, theft, and for a false deceiver  
None went beyond me. I am brought this day  
To suffer for't, and I my life must pay.   

Take warning all by me, avoid those crimes,  
You that are guilty; oh! repent betimes?  
Sin will but cheat you, flatteringly 'twill woo you,  
Like Crocodiles, it will at last undo you.   

Now for my sins I fear I must go fry  
With jesaebel, in flames eternally,  
My conscience tells me, what's my sinful hire.  
Drive, drive away, me thinks I feel hell fire.  
But after this she stayed a little space:  
Then as she drew the cloth down o'er her face,  
Said, world, adieu! with thee I leave my stain:  
Oh! I shall never see the light again!  
The pain, the shame, the anguish of my heart  
Thus said; the car-man drew away the cart  
Upon command, but left his load behind:  
I cannot think the halter eased her mind.  
Of all her gains, she'd nothing lest to pay  
For bur'ing of her corpse: but by the way  
Her grave is made: the hangman put her in't,  
And here her Epitaph is put in Print.   

Her Epitaph.  
Here lies a monster of the Female kind;  
So serpentlike! her venom's mixed with shame:  
Yetlike a mole she turned; fur she was blind:  
Or like a dragon, but she was too tame.  
Some part from woman, more from beasts had she.  
She was most fowl, and died upon a tree.    

SECT. 51. Of a Prodigal Man that run out of all, and how his wife turned whore.  

A Simple man, that was both poor and proud,  
That strained himself beyond what was allowed  
By his estate: his raverne meetings cost  
More than he got: his time being daily lost:  
With costly suits, with rich and dainty fare  
His wife and he did live still free from care:  
He to grow fearless oft did charge his brain  
With Claret, Sack, the fruits of France and Spain.  
Having the dropsy, he could not quench his thirst,  
He strained so long, till at the last he burst.   

His calling cast him up, and his estate  
Denied him bread, being overruled by Fate.  
He saw his folly, and he was perplexed:  
But 'twas too late, alas! in vain he vexed!  
His former ways grew hateful in his sight:  
His heart grew heavy, but his wife turned light,  
Lascivious Goat! she will hold up her port:  
And any Ape that will to her resort,  
Finds entertainment: yet he still is kind,  
And charms her oft, but cannot change her mind.   

She scorns him: he gives her nor clothes, nor diet:  
She'll have a place, where she may live at quiet:  
She being gone, his mind doth him importune  
To go beyond sea, and to seek his Fortune.  
Away he went; but yet in three years' time  
Came back with hope this whore had purged her crime.  
At first, by chance he met her in the street,  
(Wrapped in a bag, perfumed with civet sweet,)  
Saluted her; discoursed things that were passed:  
H'was glad to see her; there came by at last  
A Gentleman (it seems) her name he knew,  
He'd give her wine, acquaintance to renew.  
She left her husband, giving him this reason,  
She'd talk with him; but at a fitter season.  
Poor man! he's dry, yet cannot with her drink:  
Another must, how such a whore doth stink!  
He lets 'em go; was't not a simple swain?  
His wife is proved to be a whore in grain.    

SECT. 52. Of a Whore proving with child, that laid it to many to get money.  

A pampered trull that made a trade of sin,  
She had a trap which she caught wood cocks in.  
Her carriage showed that she was void of grace;  
Her riches all were summed up in her face.  
She had a husband that did cloak her shame,  
A seasoned Cuckold; feign I'd tell his name  
If 'twere worth naming; but to let him pass  
A parboiled Ramshead, or the Devil's Ass.   

This strumpet had been chaffering with her ware;  
If she could trade, with whom she did not care:  
Nor did she stand with all, for present pay,  
(Such wholesale dealers, often give some day  
For their return) and many had been buying  
Her stale breathed ware; and sundry more were trying  
To drive the bargain: customers she had,  
Some kept their day, some broke it, some ran mad,  
Some paid her weekly, those were rare, and strange,  
Some always paid her when the Moon did change,  
Some half a year, as they at first did barter:  
But most agreed to pay within the quarter.   

This trading made her swell, and she grew proud,  
Her belly swelled, alas! I speak too loud:  
She's rig'd and fraught, her keel is large and big:  
She wallows out, much like a sow with pig,  
Amongst her customers: she gives a bill  
To everyone, and then they know her will;  
What ware she has enclosed in her boat,  
And how she'll truck, 'tis all within her note:  
In trading mit they shall themselves enthrall,  
It will not vent, and so 'twill break them all.  
They all disliked, and showed it by their looks:  
But being run so far into her books,  
They're in distress: the principal with use  
She'll make them pay: this is a fowl abuse!  
Each one must take it all, if not a part,  
And every one is galled, and vexed at th'heart. '  
To take this ware none of them will agree;  
Yet know't to be a quick commodity.  
The case is clear, and yet in doubt it stands;  
Though it be quick, 'twill lie upon their hands:  
They all compound; her chapmen give her fleeces,  
Some five, some ten, of some sh'has twenty pieces:  
So they agreed (or else it had been tried)  
And they are fain to pay old scores beside.   

Here's subtle traffic, though this whore be pressed,  
I'dehave her art concealed from all the rest;  
But let her shame be known, that all may say  
This whore put sin to use, and had her pay.  
Let those that traffic with her be content  
To bear the shame, the loss, the punishment,  
And ever after bend their care to strive  
T'avoid such gulfs, which swallow men alive.    

SECT. 53. Of a man that was sick for another man's wife.  

A harmless man a journey undertook,  
His country, and his wife a time forsook  
To seek his own beyond the Sea; and when  
He had obtained it, home he came again.  
But e'er he had accomplished his intent,  
There fell at home a shameful accident:  
A man fell sick of lust, it grew so strong  
He must have cure, or live he could not long:   

But who must help him, but this poor man's wife.  
She, only she 'tis must restore his life.  
A man, said I? a brute, a bull, a bore.  
He's sick to have a woman turn a whore.   

H'has wife, and children, but he will not own them,  
He's sick, and looks, as if he had not known them.  
His wife and friends must now reveal his mind  
To her, to try, if she will be so kind  
To entertain the motion, grant his suit  
To save his life; and be his prostitute.   

Oft she was urged; but she at first denied:  
Her tender fear judged if he should have died,  
'T had been her sin; then she at last consented  
Unto his lust; the goat was then contented.   

Thou brat of Sodom! how canst thou but think  
Thy shame will make thy name for ever stink!  
Thou mightst have bend thy heat (thou filthy gull)  
Upon a cow, as Pasiph'e, on the bull.  
Me thinks a halter might have given thee ease!  
'Tis present cure for such a hot disease.  
It would have raised the heat, and placed the fire  
Close to thy ear, and quenched thy foul desire.  
Hadst thou no mind to't? waste restrained by fear?  
What pity 'twas the hangman was not there!   

This Rascal's now restored and does delight  
In's new-made whore; and she affects the sight  
Of rustic jack: they on each other fawn,  
He sells his goods, and she lays hers to pawn,  
To bear their charges at their meeting places;  
And every day they see each others faces.  
If she repent, he'll swear he'll make her known,  
Then she is constant; now the whore's his own.  
They give themselves to dally, sport, and revel,  
Their words and works make pastime for the devil.  
Is Cupid guilty? then I'll make a rod,  
(And lime the twigs) to whip this apish god.   

His wife that gave consent to this at first,  
And beat the bargain, thinks herself accursed.  
She wooed her to assuage his hellish heat,  
She's punished for't: she has no bread to eat.  
His feigned friends, that were as panders to him,  
Do grieve with shame! their counsel did undo him  
But now this man's returned; he's at the door,  
And little thinks his wife is turned a whore.  
He's now come home, and thinks himself much blest,  
His wife grows big, great joy is here expressed!  
A son is borne; the birth is in the prime,  
But yet it came two months before the time,  
But he ne'er counted time; (he had no fear)  
For he had bought no Almanac that year.  
'Twas christened, put to nurse, nor was it known,  
By him, or others, but that 'twas his own.  
Yet shortly after, though it was concealed,  
Time was ashamed on't: so it was revealed.  
Shame forced her to to confess; and then she did  
Disclose her whoredom, though before 'twas hid.   

Had you but seen the tears that he did vent  
When this he heard, and found his goods were spent,  
It would have moved your hearts: he could not speak,  
He's swelled with grief, as if his heart would break!   

Do travels breed such fruit? is this my pains  
To bring forth shame? he inwardly complains.  
How shall I show my face! how shall I stand  
Against reproach! or tarry in this Land!  
My pulses work, my spirits do rebel;  
My forhead's hard, my horns begin to swell!  
This child's my shame, 'tis guiltless, who'd disdain it?  
I got it not, and yet I must maintain it:  
When I went hence, how poor was I! but thou  
In proving light, hast made me poorer now,  
My comfort and my riches, was my wife:  
But failing! now, I'm weary of my life!   

To ease his grief, he thought to make that slave  
A dread to all; but then this shameless knave  
Slinks out of sight: his house had cast him out,  
His goods are gone, he sneaks and sharks about,  
Sends threats & scoffs to him, which made him stagger;  
He left his suit, for jack was grown a beggar.  
Then staying here a time with discontent,  
He took his luggadge and away he went.  
Time, place, earth, sea, do all the best you can;  
How e'er she speeds, show favour to the man!    

SECT. 54. Of a dunghill whore, and a pander; how they abused a man of worth; and how they suffered shame at last.  

THere did appear a monster in our time,  
Who travelled long, at last brought forth a crime  
Unknown to any age: nor did it end her:  
She was a female of the common gender,  
Perverse, and proud, malicious, envious, cursed,  
An Infidel; I should have named that first.  
Gross ignorance did run along betwixt,  
And Atheism was with all distempers mixed;  
She learnt of none but of the murdering devil;  
The wit she had, was only to do evil.  
She did not know but Pluto was her maker:  
And her descent was from a dunghill-raker.  
Her father's Castle, freed her from the Law,  
Being walled with mud, thatched with a truss of straw.  
'Twas seven foot in height, judge you the strength:  
Six foot in breadth, but full nine foot in length.  
So Negro-like her face appeared in hue,  
But that the black was too much mixed with blue,   

Her snout grew double, both the currents great;  
Where streams ran down still to assuage the heat.  
Her eyes were charged with bullets; and her tongue  
By statute measure, was a nail too long.  
Her lips kept at a distance very oft,  
(To those that had a mind) she kissed as soft  
As hedge-hoggs bristles: and her teeth stood out  
Beyond the palest ' affronted her daring snout.  
Her limbs did all agree; being thick and large,  
They did contribute to each others charge;  
Her pride lay in her joints, they would not bend:  
This is her picture; who can her commend?   

A ragged imp, that had a Newgate face,  
That suited with her; and as free from grace  
As she could be; you'd think none were so bad:  
But here's a villain having twice run mad,  
Grows mad again: and doth embrace this whore,  
Both are more shameless than they were before,  
Two second devils could not be more vild;  
At last this pander got this quean with child.  
They raked the dunghills to invent a plot  
Who now should keep it, seeing is was got.  
They pitched upon a man (for they were bold)  
Should do't, or else they'd fleece him of his gold.  
This man's a man of worth, of honest name,  
Of comely person; goodness, truth, and fame  
Had made him known: a man so well beloved,  
So free from pride, from passion, seldom moved  
With vain applause! so constant in his mind,  
So just, so free, that you shall seldom find  
A man so qualified! This jade comes to him,  
And speaks him fair, thinking then to woo him,  
(How fair d'ye mean? pray offer me no wrong;  
Can one speak fair, with so foul a tongue?)  
And draw him on to give her such a sum  
Of money (thought she, ere that he will come  
To open shame; he'll yield to fee at large.)  
I am with child, I lay it to your charge.  
But if you will not give me money store,  
(Now you have tempted me to be your whore)  
I'll make you answer't in another place:  
I've witness that will swear to your disgrace.   

This modest man's amazed, but (yet not mute,)  
Replying, said; from whence wilt raise thy suit?  
From hell below? or from thy hell within?  
Thou'lt be the mother of a hellborn sin.  
Thou shameless Imp! thou'rt from the devil sent  
With hell's broad seal, to vex the innocent!  
Thou know'st I'm guiltless, dost thou raise this strife,  
To spoil my name that's better than my life?  
Oh, hateful crime! what wilt thou damn thy soul?  
And set thy hand to that black Doomsday roll?  
Thou'st played the whore, 'tis bad; worse wilt thou do?  
To swear a lie, thou wilt be perjured too.  
Do, spit thy gall, I will not fear a jot;  
He yield unto, what justice shall allot!  
Nor will I give the money, I will never  
Support a whore (how have I loathed 'em ever.)  
Should I seem guilty, when my soul is free?  
Mark but the end, the shame will fall on thee.  
justice's will search the truth; and thou shalt find,  
That sin and shame, will pay thee in thy kind.   

This nasty harlot, hearing his reply,  
Said; have I been your sweet? and now must I  
Be forced to fly for succour to the laws?  
I'faith, you shall know, that I will prove my cause  
To be so just, that all upon the Bench,  
Shall credit me. I am no simple wench.  
Had you but given me coin I'd ne'er have tried it:  
You'll be undone, alas! you must abide it!  
The loss of credit, with an empty purse;  
How e'er you slight it, 'tis the greatest curse.  
One fifty pounds had drawn me to have stayed it;  
You'll wish ere long, O! that I had but paid it!  
When you shall lay at stake your wealth, your name,  
Ten fifty pounds then, will not hide your shame.  
I see't's in vain for me to use expressions,  
I'll speak my mind more freely at the Sessions.   

Away went she, to have this man indicted:  
The pander swears, that he will see her righted:  
They get their tales by heart; they laugh, and say,  
Hang't, there's no fear, but we shall have the day:  
The Bill is drawn; but now they make their moans  
Until her father sells his marrowbones,  
They have no money nor to pay the Clerk,  
Nor would he trust'em; (one thing more pray mark,  
Then hear the trial) see how they were fitted:  
The time, the place, where he this act committed,  
Or where he gave the gold they had forgot,  
Till'twas too late, the difference spoiled their plot,   

The Indictment. R. B.  
Thou stand'st indicted of a fact most vild,  
For having known, and got A. H. with child,  
For having of her body carnalluse;  
If this be true, it is a foul abuse.  
Denying her relief, thou mak'st her go,  
To beg her bread. Art guilty, yea or no?   

Not guilty.  
They both are sworn, the truth now to express,  
All, but no more: they think of nothing less.   

The first begins, I had a hapless chance!  
I went to service, thinking to advance  
My fortunes in the world: I met this man,  
He flatt'red me, and gave me gifts; I can  
Relate his words for need; but to be shorr,  
He took me home, and there he had the sport:  
I proved with child, went to him, he'd not own me,  
But looked, and spoke, as if he had not known me.  
Yet gave me money, having stayed there long:  
But charged me strictly still to hold my tongue:  
Poor I! was silent, till the coin was spent;  
Then need enforced me, and to him I went:  
And made my moan in gentle terms, and mild  
T' allow me money, and to keep the child:  
But he'd do neither, like a peevish knave;  
Prav show me justice: that is all I crave.   

The Pander now begins, to tell his tale,  
But faltering in't, his colour changed pale.  
The jury saw it, and the judge did view him;  
He called the Keeper, and the Keeper knew him;  
He had been thrice in prison, whipped, and seared,  
And shoulder-markt beside; he quaked, and feared  
His shameful plot; the hangman by him stood  
To sing his face, or pickle him in wood.  
They were examined jointly, and apart,  
Where, when, the manner, (judges have an art  
To find delinquents) how it came about,  
What money she received; and the doubt  
Was out of doubt, their words did not agree,  
The Plaintiff's sound, but the Defendant's free.  
His honest name at first did give a light,  
The difference in persons showed 'twas spite.   

These perjured vermin, sentence have received;  
(How oft are sinners, by themselves deceived!)  
A public whipping first they must abide;  
They have a cart, but yet they must not ride:  
The horse is led, they cannot lose their way,  
They did before; by sin they went astray.  
They'd company good store, the Beadle's mind  
(Though he's in office) is to go behind.   

His overseers keep him still in sight,  
And for his work (poor man) he's paid with spite!  
So many teachers? who can give content  
To all of them, and yet be innocent?  
One does desire favour for the Whore,  
Another prays that he would lash her more.  
As some do wish him then to pay the slave,  
Some moved with pity, still do mercy crave.  
Their faces had no blood, what they did lack,  
The Beadle searched, and sound it on the back.  
They loathed lane-ends and gutters, (for this trash)  
As well they know there they must have the lash.  
The Beadle's charged, upon his charge he stands;  
The ease they had was resting sor their hands.  
This punishment being past; another time,  
They must be mounted up, to blaze this crime,  
Upon a scaffold in the market place,  
And t'over-looke it; 'twas a simple grace  
To be preferred so quickly, and so high!  
Yet this preferment came by perjury.  
They thrust their heads through windows, but a gin  
Doth share them so, they cannot pull them in;  
Nor could they creep quite out; a cruel spite:  
They could not sit, nor could they stand upright.  
They had this place by law; no wrong I'll do them,  
For they had writing did confirm it to them;  
Lest time should make it void, t'confirme it better,  
The hangman sealed it, with a red-hor letter.  
They paid no fine, they should have done 'tis true,  
Where's nothing to be had, Kings lose their due.   

But growing careless in this high estate,  
Both fish and flesh, was at as great a rate  
As 'twas before; complaint was made, (I find)  
The deeds were torn, the seals were left behind,  
theyare took away. (Some, that with pride were stung,  
Had got the place, but none that kept it long)  
By steps of stone they rise as much in height,  
And had more neck-room, but not quite so light.  
I leave 'em there, but if they rise again,  
And vex the hangman, putting him to pain  
He'll use a trick, to keep them ever down,  
If ere he catch them one mile out of Town,  
He'll give them both less neck-room than before;  
If thus they fall once, they will rise no more.    

SECT. 54. Divers means prescribed to cure the soul disease of lust, suiting with all conditions of persons.  

THe Medicines that must cure this fowl disease  
According to my skill (if readers please  
To gather patience to digest the rest,  
They'll prise the remedies, being here expressed.  
I'll show in order: Moral and Divine,  
With Natural helps, as tempers do incline,  
So must they be appled. Thou must begin,  
First, to consider, 'tis a hateful sin,  
That heaven still hath cursed, the actors thence  
Are banished; for a shameful recompense,  
As most unclean; it is against thy life,  
Thy soul, thy health, thy substance, friends, and wife,  
(If thou hast any) and the curse, and shame,  
With wrath and guilt, will pray upon thy name.  
Earth will not hold thee long; while here thou art,  
Thou dost but for a hellhound play thy part.  
Thou cut'st thy time short; for thy raging lust  
Infects thy bones, thy flesh; brings thee to dust  
Before thou art aware; men's hate is bred  
To thee alive; they'll loathe thee being dead.  
When heaven, and earth disclaims thee, hell will take  
Thee for her own, where thou thy bed must make  
In burning flames: repent, repent in time,  
Or sin will fill thy bones, being laid in slime.   

Deny occasions, that would tempt thee to it;  
Think on thy end, and then thou canst not do it.  
Subdue the rise of lust; thy sin will be  
Slave like kept in captivity by thee.   

Observe what others by their lusts have gained;  
Have they not been disgraced, plagued, punished, pained?  
Those painted pleasures, blasted in the bloom,  
Fore-run a horrid night! the day of Doom  
Will show thee to the world. Oh! watch and pray!  
Or last, and hell, will hurry thee away:   

Keep down thy pampered flesh with fasting: then  
Thou wilt forsake such beasts, and live with men.  
Mind still the presence of the glorious God;  
Submit to him in love, but fear his rod,  
Make bargain with thy eyes, ne'er to behold  
Fair, wanton objects: rather view the mould,  
From which thy flesh was framed: (nor hast thou trust)  
While here thou stay'st, thou art but living dust.   

Think every grief, distress, disease, or painc,  
Is sent to rank thy life among the slain.  
Thou mayst be taken in the cursed act,  
(As Zimri was) and damned for the fact.   

eat idleness; if thou art not employed  
In honest ways, the Devil will divide  
Thy heart, thy strength, and draw thee to his will,  
To pleasure him in any thing that's ill.  
Thy leisure gives thee leave; (thou'lt work the faster,  
If Nature spur thee on) a cruel master  
He'll prove at last; when thou shouldst reap thy gains,  
What canst expect, but torment for thy pains?   

Beware of drunkenness; else that will breed  
And kindle fuel; then this shameful deed  
Will hatch itself: when thou hast drowned thy brains,  
The fog of lust will then possess thy reins:  
They're near of kin; there is no cause of wonder,  
That evil partners are not far a sunder.  
The time draws on, when drunkenness, and lust  
Shall have their hell together; is't not just  
That hell should draw them dry? or is't not fit,  
That witty mad men lose not sense, but wit?   

Avoydill custom: 'tis no easy thing  
To change a habit: he's a true bred King  
That conquers but himself. Sin will be stronger,  
And as the evening shadow grows still longer,  
So custom spreads itself. This one thing know,  
Thou'st age enough to match with fiends below.  
If thou be married, 'tis the breach of truth  
Betwixt thee, and the partner of thy youth,  
Which curses will requite: 'twill be a blot  
To thee and thine, for ever; and thy lot  
Will be the like, or worse; such men do find  
Lex talionis (paid home in their kind.)   

If thou art single, and thy lust prove strong,  
Prevent the worst by Marriage: tarrying long  
May force the floods to overflow the banks;  
Then men grow fearless, fit for hellish pranks  
This sin is never single; it must be  
Joined with another's in adultery:  
As though the guilty threatening to rebel,  
Breathed out disdain, to go alone to hell.  
He bears the double sin: though they agreed  
A little time to sin; this shame full deed,  
When done, 'twill breed them everlasting odds:  
They're painted roses which do turn to rods.   

Look on the imperfections of a whore;  
Some in her person, but sh'as worse, and more  
In disposition: if thou hast but wit,  
This thing alone may ' suage thy frenzy fit,  
But if thou hast no skill, or art in doubt,  
Bring her to me, I'll help to find find emout.   

But if thy lust exceed in strength, being great,  
Starve it with hunger; and assuage the heat,  
With fair cool water; drink nor wine, nor beer,  
Till thou hast purged thy soul, and made all clear.  
Refuse no counsel, let it pierce thy heart,  
And welcome a reproof though it seems smart  
To thee: 'tis wholesome company with such  
That hate this vice, and love good; for there's much  
Good gotten by them; they've no poisoned breath;  
In life like such as thou wouldst have at death.   

Give up thyself to Christ: then thou mayst say  
thou'rt not thine own: thou canst not go astray.  
To join with harlots, for thy soul's bespoken,  
The marriage day is set; his love's the token  
Of thy eternal good. he'll ever keep  
Thee from those vermin that about thee creep.  
Here's profit, pleasure, everlasting gain,  
Which with consent will banish all thy pain.   

View heavens glory; fixing still thine eyes  
With confidence, to pierce the lofty skies:  
And look beyond thy sense; and silence reason;  
Note well the beauty; take the blessed season  
To raise thy heart; see what reward those find  
That were not foiled with lust, or womankind.   

But when thou look'st, take this advice of mine,  
Thinc eyes, thy heart, thy ends must be Divine.   

Then turn thine eyes tow'ards hell, where thou mayst see  
The plagues, the torments, and the misery  
That hellhounds do endure: and that will make  
Thy raging lust grow tame, thy heart will ache,  
To think the swallowing of a blasted pleasure  
Should gender wrath, endless in weight and measure.  
The potion's mingled, those that drink that cup  
Their streams of lust will soon be dried up.  
Their dainty palate's thirst, th'insatiate whore,  
With roaring Tom, shall act that sin no more.  
Their moystur's gone; but there's the greater fire  
Mix still with brimstone; that's the whorish hire.  
There are no beauties; no, nor light to see  
Except t'be shame, and sins deformity.  
They dwell with devils; and their inward room  
Is burning hell, their prison, and their tomb.  
What if thou shouldst when none of these will take,  
Destroy a member? some for heaven's sake  
Have done as much ('tis better thou shouldst cast  
One part away, than lose thyself at last,  
Mistake me not, I do not prompt thee to it;  
If former means prevail, thou mayst not do it.)  
To save his soul who is't that would not use  
A certain cure? pray here my pen excuse.   

There's nothing else, except time does afford  
Fresh remedies: (being ancient) he is stored  
With cures both old and new: the sinner old,  
Will leave his lust, or that him, 'cause he's cold.  
For physic helps, those that profess that Art  
Can show thee, which will calm thy boiling heart,  
If that should miss (I think this will not fail)  
Live like a begging Friar in a jail.  
Stone walls, and iron grates are very good  
To temper thee, and qualify thy blood.   

But if it be a woman, she must shun  
Her liberty, work hard, not like a Nun,  
To stitch a gorget; but to turn a mill,  
Or draw a wheelbarrow, though against her will:  
There are appointed places, 'mong the rest;  
(If I may judge) the Bridewells are the best.  
And let the whip lie always in her sight.  
Let blew-cote beadles lock her up at night,  
And call her early up, let time be inched,  
And of her labour let her not be pinched.   

There's one thing more, which I am loath to name,  
'Twill strange Just, but 'twill prefer thy shame.  
Probatum est, 'tis nothing but a rope,  
Made fast and loose, 'tis all the hangman's hope,  
Thy hope, thy pleasure, with thy life will end;  
'Tis then too late to say thou wilt amend.  
The hangman's still in haste, the carman's pay  
Will not avail to tarry half a day.  
The Priest will pray, but he is never long:  
He has it ready: when he holds his tongue  
The pangs of death come on thee; when thy face  
Is covered o'er, oh! what a fearful cale  
Art thou in then; the men in post will ride,  
But when they come and find thee dead, fast tied  
Unto a halter's end; the people gone,  
To Gregory, and thy grave thou'rt left alone.  
But where abides thy soul? 'las! who can know?  
I fear 'twill be confined to dwell below.   

Remember what I say, read o'er this book:  
Perhaps thou mayst in reading love to look  
Upon thine own estate: (learn to be wise)  
'Tis sharp, but wholesome, 'twill not blast thine eyes.  
If 'twill but turn thy heart, 'twill quit the cost,  
Or strengthen any, 'tis not labour lost.  
The guiltless, and the convert shall for me  
Go uncontrolled. Then let my Muse pass free.  
Read it with patience; take what is thy due.  
I he are the whispering of a bawdy crew:  
I needs must answer them? Or they'll abuse  
My harmless meaning, and my freeborn Muse.    

SECT. 56. The supposed railing objections, imprecations of the filthy brood, against the Author, and the Book.  

A Bawdy knot being met, & having found  
The Nights Search trenching in their common ground,  
Began to grumble; first the Bawd did speak.  
● A busy fool, whose brains are sunk, or weak,  
Hath writ a book; 'twas principally made  
To shame us all, and overthrow our trade.  
I heard a gallant speak, as if it came  
Post with a whip, in Tom o' Bedlams name.  
'Tis armed with fury, every line spits fire;  
I wish a halter were the Authors hire!   Pand. 

I've bought the book, I heard 'twas new come out,  
I have it here to put you out of doubt:  
He rails, he frets, with biting jeers in scoff,  
Keeps much ado, yet comes but poorly off:  
He writes of whipping, pillering, and carting,  
Burning, curses, hanging too at parting.   Bawd. 

Let's see the book, hadst thou so little wit:  
To buy such trash? I'll serve thee now as fit;  
One part shall serve to stop the mustard pot,  
I'll burn the rest; and that shall be its lot.  
A fool and's money quickly part! I see  
That thou art vexed; wilt be revenged on me?   Whore. 

Pray mistress let it lie to keep all clean,  
'Twill serve for waste: you know well what I mean.  
One of my friends shall write to his disgrace,  
To show his wit, and in some public place  
Cast out a libel, that the world may know  
His wit is blasted, only wit in show!   Pand. 

I'm vexed to hear you! did I buy this book  
To have it burnt or tore? great pains I took  
To find it out; pray, blame me not to frown  
To see it spoiled; it cost me half a crown:  
But bear your shares, we'll keep't to shame this sinner,  
Make it our recreation after dinner,  
To laugh at's folly; then 'twill serve to light  
Tobacco for us every winter's night.   Bawd. 

Thou simple fool! dost think I'll have it lse  
Within my house, our trading to descry?  
Some feathered goose may see't, and with a fright  
Forsake the house, and take a further flight:  
Pray burn it, burn it; if that ass were here  
That made the book, we'd burn him to, or tear  
His skin from's flesh, than he should know how well  
The place and persons do resemble hell:  
But 'tis no matter, none that loves the sport  
Of Vénus, or attends at Cupid's Court,  
Will e'er regard it, but to laugh and jest  
At his course wit: I value not the rest.   Who. 

If I may judge, I think he hath been crossed  
In his desire, he hath a beauty lost;  
Or else his stock is spent, and being poor,  
He cannot pass so freely to his whore  
As formerly he did; and now in rage  
He for her sake brings all upon the stage.  
Or being old, his vigour is abated;  
What he loved once, he'd make all think he hated  
Thus ab initio; now he writes to strive  
(When all things fail) to keep his name alive.  
Could he have known our private ways, or been  
Our Secretary, if he had not seen  
The windings of the clew, or touched the sore,  
If he by practice had not known't before?  
Or else he wanting natural affections,  
Would have sweet nature follow his drections.  
He has been in some service overcharged;  
The mark was hot; and being now enlarged  
From Bedlam, Newgate, or Chirurg'ons hands.  
He cannot feel the ground on which he stands,  
I have been bred to this; it is my course,  
I'd better be a whore than to do worse.   Bawd. 

I am grown old, nor can I now take pains.  
This is my trade, which brings me constant gains.  
Should I forsake it now? then call me fool;  
I have not lived so long, to go to school  
To such a haire-braind coxcomb: no, I will  
Bear up delight, drink, and be merry still.  
He'd make us think, if flesh and blood rebel,  
There is no help, but we must go to hell.  
We know that many with those faults are tainted,  
Yet some were goddesses, and some were Sainted.  
Why should I fear, but I as well may speed?  
The Queen of Love I never did exceed.   Pand. 

I came to town thinking to be a groom,  
But when I came another had the room  
That I was to supply: and having spent;  
My time, my means, being in discontent  
I took this honest course to gain relief;  
There's none can say I am a rogue or thief:  
And yet (forsooth) here's one hath undertaken  
To prove us thiefs, and sentence passed, nor book  
Will he allow, which arrant thiefs have had.  
Why do I speak? this peevish fellow's mad!   Pimp. 

I have been brought up in a gentile way,  
To drink, to swear, to whore, to dice and play:  
I sold my lands, and spent my whole estate,  
What should I do, being thus unfortunate?  
I am a man that do attend those Lasses  
That feed me full; I drink in bowls and glasses?  
They give me coin, and clothes, with them I find  
Such dainty bits as satisfy my mind:  
Let shame attend this idiot! let his pen  
Be silenced, forced to blot out this again.    

SECT. 57 The railing Objections of an impious crew, answered.  

YOu brood of darkness, that do hate the light,  
And breath out venom, railing, cursing, spite  
Against the Author, and his searching Muse,  
You shame yourselves, you cannot him abuse.  
The Bawd that's parboiled, or the Whore that's stewed,  
The rotten Pander, and the Pimp that sued  
To have his Muse quite silent, hear th' reply;  
Your breath's unwholesome, pray come not too nigh:  
But you are powdered (that me thinks is well)  
To qualify the stink, and 'swage the smell.   

I do confess the book was made to fright,  
And shame your rabble, that true subjects might  
Be warned by your example, hate your crew;  
If I be mad, I'm only mad to you.  
If I would hide your shame, your humours feed,  
Or act such baseness, I were mad indeed.  
What gallant's that, that doth these lines oppose?  
Doth he speak plain? or snuffle in the nose?  
Or are his sinews lost? or only shrunk?  
Or has he been at flats? and being sunk,  
Blows fume into his brains? his words may please  
Your fretting fancies, but not give you ease.  
Is not his face half roasted? is't not rich  
With Rubies, Pearls, and Saphires? none of which  
Will pass for gold, to satisfy his whore;  
Although his face be rich, his purse is poor.  
Or does his face seem covered o'er with tallow?  
Or has disease died it into a yellow?  
How opens he his jaws? has he his hair?  
Or is he moped a new with borrowed ware?  
I fear it is not safe with him to sup,  
Nor is it wholesome e'er to taste his cup:  
I know the earth doth bear such loathsome men,  
What their mouth's take in, runs through th'nose again;  
Butlet him pass. Except the Bawd doth turn,  
What e'er she wish, I fear she'll hang or burn.   

The Pander got of late a greater share  
For keeping of the door, that he could spare  
Money to buy this book, but now 'tis cast;  
Bawd, Pander, Whore have sentence on it past;  
Butlet me speak a word, 'tis but a breath,  
If it must die, let it be pressed to death.   

What libeler is this the whore would have  
Write to disgrace the Author? let me crave  
To know what place he lives in? let his name  
Be known, that all may blaze abroad his shame.  
There are a crew that do cast libels forth  
Against the State; to slander men of worth  
They bend their frothy wits; but time may make  
Them bear their shame, the rest may warning take.   

The Panders vexed, put to your helping hands,  
Pay for the book; for as the case now stands,  
You must not burn it; you may laugh, 'tis true,  
But's fellows are alive to laugh at you.  
Make it your sport, jeer on, you need not say,  
'Twill shame an ass, or fright a goose away.  
But if you burn it ('twill not clear the score)  
It is a sign that you were burned before.   

You suit with hell, alas! what need my pen  
Compare you to't? I'd turn you back again,  
If you'd be ruled: but oh! it is in vain;  
The hope I have, is to cut short your train.  
Your claws I know are sharp, but is it well  
That you should go to sharpen them in hell?  
Touch not my flesh, it is dame nature's frame  
That was made up with dust, and to the same  
ere long it must return, and so must you,  
And every one receive what's just and due.  
You prise the bad, all good men you detest,  
As devils do, you count the worst the best.   

Alas! my wit is low (I must confess)  
That little which I have, serves me to guess  
What path goes down to death. Though I am poor,  
I never spent my means upon a whore.  
It was for no one's sake that I did bring  
Your vices on the stage, but that the sting  
Might show itself to all. Nor is it age;  
I am but entered on the middle stage  
Of winged time: what God and nature lent  
Me for a time, shall not be basely spent.  
My mind, my will I laboured still to fever  
From your cursed snares; Lord! let me do so ever!  
As for my name, whether that live or die,  
Let me be blest with thee eternally.  
It was my working Genius, and my Muse  
That sound your windings; I did never use  
To haunt your hideous cells; I never durst  
To venture there where all are shamed, some cursed.  
If I have lanced the fore, brought you to light,  
'Twas not experience made me hit so right.   

Nor am I void of nature, no; nor been  
In Bedlam, nor in prison, but have seen  
The misery of others! and I find  
My own condition futing to my mind.   

As for the bawd, is it excuse, that she  
Hath been accustomed to her bawdry?  
Oh! horrid gains! what ever it brought in  
To any one, that drives a trade with sin,  
Waits still its turn, to make return in hell;  
And keeps exchange, where Devils rage and swell.  
She scorns to take advise, she thinks all such  
As Heathens honoured, (for they did as much)  
Will countenance her sin: ill partners do  
Bring wrath the sooner, and increase it too;   

And let the Pander that did change his place,  
See how he's cheated: for he left all grace,  
Behind him there; thoug he had suffered, loss  
His expectation; and been further crossed,  
In loss of time, and money; yet amends  
Might have been made: this is a way that tends  
To crosle his hopes for ever: he'll know,  
Except he change his course, 'twill bring him low.  
What is 〈◊〉 but a thief? God, his own soul  
He robs 〈◊〉 once; all goodness he will control;  
It is his place to steal away men's wealth;  
He and the whore, do rob them of their health.  
There is no straight to bring a man to sin;  
But he that's hatched for hell and will begin,  
Makes every lust bear twins: and he must share  
The more with grief, drink all the cup of care.  
A book shall lie before him, to decide  
All scruples, doubts, when e'er his cause is tried.  
He counts me foolish: so I am: I'll say  
No more to him, but leave him to that day.   

The Pimp that hath been so gentile; and bred  
Up at a lofty rate; he being led  
Vn to his ruin, seems to carry't fair,  
Until the jaws of death, and black despair  
Do seize upon him; setting still his love  
upon all that's vile, and blasted from above.  
He makes himself unhappy! being poor,  
He sells himself, who sold his land before.   

Fortune was blind indeed, to make him Pimp,  
And steel his face, t'attend so base an imp.  
Let him drink off his cup, his glass or bowl,  
Though he grows fat in body, his poor soul  
Is starved within him! and he'll find withal,  
His draughts are like to wormwood mixed with gall,  
His money and his clothes, of which he brags,  
Th'one melts away, the other turns to rags.  
What are his morsels? can he have them still?  
He'll sur fet with them: having once his fill,  
He spews them up again: then he shall sit  
At sorrow's table, but not eat a bit.  
The rot will take the whores, like silly sheep,  
Within few years; then he shall drink so deep  
In that that's worse than ratsbane, that his trust  
Shall die before hand, then drop down he must.  
As for the book, 'twould gain no love from me  
If it did tend to please such fools as he,  
If happy gales blow on't, it may survive  
When they are dead, to keep their shame alive.  
Nor shall my pen be silent, till this crew  
Shall mend, or end, and so adieu, adieu.    

SECT. 58. The charge to the Muse, at the entrance into her travels.  

GO now, my Muse, (although thou canst not sing  
Equal with those that charm the wanton spring)  
Walk o'er the golden hiss, the silver vales,  
And charm the curled groves to hear thy tales.  
And let the crystal brooks, the pearled streams  
Stay in their course, to listen to thy themes.   

A tree that has no sap, a vale that's grown  
Barren with time, orraging floods may frown  
Upon thee in thy progress; never care:  
Thou hast my blessing, how soe'er thou fare.  
Nay, never whine, because thy father's name  
Is not advanced upon the wings of Fame;  
Thy worth is ne'er the less: though some disdain thee,  
Be not dismayed; the rest will entertain thee.   

Beware the Critic: for his shallow brain  
Drops venom on his tongue: he strives to stain  
The best of best end evors; never be  
Discouraged, though Memus carp at thee.   

Zoilus his checks are vain, though envy have  
Against thy coming, digged for thee a grave,  
'Tis for herself: speak thou the truth, I charge thee;  
Though malice chain thee up, time will enlarge thee.  
To hatch their own disgrace, this brood do sit:  
They gain the Serpent's sting, but not his wit.  
Me thinks this might suffice! it is my will  
That thou shouldst try the world, I'll own thee still.  
Though churlish time o'th' sudden, will not praise thee,  
Time may grow gentle, then perhapsed will raise thee.   

Thy melancholy sister's gone before:  
She was regarded, though she was but poor,  
And lamed at going forth: she has endured  
A racking torture, she'i ere long be cured.  
She is my first borne: that doth make her boast:  
But thou art better dressed; I love thee most.  
Thy portion too is more; much care I took  
To make thee fit for service: do not look  
To be preferred at home: but yet, if men  
Will not receive thee, come to me again.   

Thou mayst in time obtain a place at Court;  
Thou wilt not flatter there: some may make sport  
From what is merry in thee: but they will  
Soon change their tunes, if they have been as Ill  
As those which thou hast found; but those that are  
Wise, sober, modest, bending still their care  
To serve the King of Kings: Oh! call them blest!  
And let them be as patterns to the rest.   

Thou needest not doubt but divers in the City  
Will clothe thee in thy travels: show thee pity  
In thy distress: for thou to them shalt show  
Such things, as one of many ne'er did know.  
They'll nurse thee up; and when they press thee out,  
They'll spread thy name upon the posts about.   

And if with Country gallants thou dost choose  
To serve awhile, because thou bring'st them news,  
They'll bid thee welcome: thou mayst find some there  
Which thou didst in thy Night, long search for here.   

Salute the Poets kindly, let them find  
Thou didst not aim at them; 'twas not thy mind  
To stain their names: but those who with their wills  
Are factors to advance lusts viler ills.  
Never look thou for favour or relief  
From any Bawd, Pimp, Pander, Whore, or Thief;  
They'll hurt thee if they can, but take no care;  
The gallows, or the whip will be their share,  
When praise is thine: their causes must be tried.  
Come, never whimper, law is on thy side.   

Thou hast a guard of worthies; none shall wrong  
Thy innocence, fear nothing, pass along.  
When thou dost meet with such, who having spent  
Their time in sin, yet hellward still are bend,  
Strike home and spare not; quickly settle to it:  
And if theyare vexed, say thou art pre'st to do it.  
If any change their minds, their ways, their ends,  
Seeing the shame; embrace them and be friends.  
I know this is thy aim, (thy mind is eased)  
Though thou be angry, thou'lt be quickly pleased.   

If thou canst keep back any from this vice,  
Who else might have been lost; they'll raise thy price  
Above all expectation: then thy fire  
Will shine, as well as warm: look thou no higher.  
So, now thou hast thy Charge: and we must part:  
Farewell dear SMuse! nor does it grieve my heart,  
To part upon these terms. I know e'er long  
Thou'lt change thy Mourning to a pleasant song.  
Let all that hear, or see thee passing by,  
Wish thee all good success! and so wish I    
FINIS.   


To his worthy friend, the Author of the Night's Search.  
WHen I had found thy drift, in this thy Night,  
Which is to bring such vassals to the light  
As undermine the world; how by thy pen  
The living dye, the dead to live again;  
Thy various Searching; and thy lofty strains,  
Thy acquaint expressions; how thy knowing brains  
Set out their sins: thy witty useful parts,  
Thy honest end; how thou dost cast thy darts,  
That Hellhounds fall before thee: how the times  
May see and hate the vileness of those crimes  
That are unmasked by thee; thy Muse went in,  
Yet thou didst never know that cursed sin.  
Complaints and grief are kept alive so rare  
That I am forced to weep and bear a share.   

I thought to praise thee, but again thought I  
'T will but disgrace thy worth and industry.  
But with this reason did my thoughts agree,  
'T will be my honour if I write of thee!  
'T will be my pride if these low lines of mine  
May be thought worthy to be bound with thine.  
Though I come late, let me this favour find,  
That I may wait upon thy Muse behind.   

Thou hast not robbed the dead, nor dost thou strive  
To scrape a line from any man alive.  
Invention's rich in thee; for I find still  
Thy Genius is too nimble for thy quill.  
Thou dost not rub thy brains a day or two  
To hatch a fancy, as some others do:  
Nor blot out often, what thou once dost write:  
'Tis worth the trusting what thou dost indite.  
I would have read thy searching Muse throughout,  
Had it been mean: but to resolve the doubt,  
'Tis worthy to be studied: every page  
May teach a lesson to this puny age.  
So much I found as pleased me; for the rest,  
I'll read and study it, when once'tis pressed.  
Thy praise will live, though pride and envy burst,  
And all th' infernal troop that are accursed,  
Spit fire at thee: wisemen all know well  
They envy thee because thou dost excel.  
Tho: Philips.   

To the Author on his exact description of the Nightwalkers of our time.  
I Lately walked your round, took full survey  
Of all, (all being worth notice) in my way:  
Observed the order of your scouts, how fast  
The silly dotterels to their ruin haste,  
How the delinquents met your lash, and how  
Those that escaped, had in conceit enough  
Sense of your scourge: which being so severe,  
Made them less wicked, not for love, but fear.  
Thus English Juvenal, thy whip doth good,  
Not gently laying on, but fetching blood.  
For our depraved times, and manners too,  
Wanted too long a Censor like to you.  
Which can with your mere frowns make all men shun  
At once the sin, and the temptation:  
But how the Roisters of the time will rage,  
When they shall see th'abuses of our age  
Reformed! and they for their supply, must be  
Enforced to travel France and Italy,  
To find their overthrow; when all they gain,  
Is but a sad experience of their pain.   

Me thinks I see the mincing Dames approve  
Thy acquaint description of their wicked love:  
And with unusual tears repent those times,  
That wronged their husbands by their shameful crimes.  
The sharking Pander will deplore the state  
Of his lewd conversation; and will hate  
His servile drudgery; and wish he were  
Again some Servingman, to quasse and swear;  
Or what ills else to act, which might obtain  
His Mistress favour, or his Master's gain:  
To wait upon some chambermaid, which he  
Knows well his Master keeps at livery,  
Which may ingratiate to his willing ear  
His service, and for that esteem him dear.  
Sometimes he might content his Mistress too,  
And for her sake, more than his Master do.  
And this were better far, and lesser ill,  
Than to be slave unto a Wantoness will:  
And after all, to be reproached for't thus,  
For serving an incarnate Incubus.   

The rampant Doxy now the twilight fears,  
Nor (as her usual wont) abroad appears:  
The plodding cheats reclaimed, and rather will  
Work hard all year, than one week at the Mill.  
Thus in the worst of times, 'tis to be thought,  
Thou hast a general reformation wrought.  
And yet, if there be any dare persist  
In their lewd courses, like the Sensualist;  
They, even they, thy fancies will admire,  
And praise the tartness of thy fiercer ire.  
For if that any of their Order be,  
By thy advice, fall'n from the livery,  
Though they themselves do their lewd ways retain,  
Yet with their praise will they applaud thy pain.   

And as the Usurer did the Preacher fee,  
That none at length might use that trade but he,  
So will these Hackney Strumpets with their crew,  
All that they can, strive now to honour you.  
How can this work of thine then choose but sell,  
When they, against whom 'tis writ, say, 'tis done well?  
What now shall I commend in thee? let all  
Who view this copy, praise th'original.  
'Twould be absurd, thy wit, or Art to praise,  
Or with our garlands to adorn thy Bays:  
Let thine ownelines (and not some others) be  
The perspective, by which we may ken thee.  
And surely 'twere but labour lost, to write  
(What thine own works make publish to the sight)  
Thy merits and thy praise, let the world then  
Believe Fame's trumpet is become thy pen.   

But yet behind thy back I dare be bold,  
Some secret truths concerning thee, unfold:  
And to acquaint the world, there is in thee  
The choicer seeds of honoured poesy:  
Cleantbes-like, each day thou dost apply  
Thyself unto thy task with industry;  
And when the night draws near, thy waking mind  
Doth something (worthy of our wonder) find  
Whereon to contemplate; how many now  
Dream their whole time away, and nothing do  
They dare record; yet at those hours, when sleep  
The most part of the world in rest doth keep,  
Thou art not idle; but hast done far more  
By night, than many all their days before.  
Heaven gave thy soul wings, that she still might be  
Soaring aloft unto her Hierarchy:  
Not that with them thou shouldst thy pillow stuff,  
And so give nature more than what's enough.   

Thou hast withdrawn times curtairs, and hast shown  
Those hidden truths, which he may blush to own.  
O how in every page might learned men  
Descry the rare conceits flow from thy pen!  
I have perused it throughly, and confess  
I were quite stupid, should I wonder less.  
Go onwards, worthy Sir, and as 'tis fit,  
Make all the world to wonder at your wit.  
That as you have this piece composed, to please  
Yourself, let others it enjoy, which ease  
And idle hours have fostered: that it may  
Remain your monument at your dying day.   

Haec quorsum premis? ut percant quis talia conduit?  
Edere si non vis omnibus, ede tibi.  
C. G. Interioris Templi,