The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony: Responses from Men | Page 7

This for
his Reputation sake must be reveal'd When Claps are only as a Jest
reveal'd She's now Remov'd--Deliver'd--and the Nurse; Comes thick
and threefold to Exhaust his Purse; A blessed Life that woful Mortal
bears, With Nurse and Child, and Mother in his Ears. Arm'd with a
Thousand things that must be had, Till they have drein'd him poor and
made him mad: What better (had he been convin'd before,) He had
Transgress'd with some Obedient Whore.
The Seventh Pleasure of a Town Life.
Another that he may his Joys secure, Turns Limbetham and keep some
Gaudy whore, Thinks her his own--when Satan knows her his mind, Is
like her Body not to be confin'd, As constant as the Moon, she plays her
part, And like a Viper preys upon his Heart: Draws him so poor, till
like her Slaves, Which she bestows on some smart Fop she loves, For
this is with 'em a perpetual Rule, They never Love the Person that they
fool, This he perceives not till it is too late, Till Ruined in his Person
and Estate. And then good Night, when all his money's gone, Miss
leaves him too, to ply about the Town.
The Eighth Pleasure of a Town Life.
But above all--if't be within thy Power, Oh Fate! to Curse me any
mortal more, Let him be him that does so wretched prove, To be with

some Intriging Jilt in Love: Nay, tho' in part to mollifie his pain, We'll
say the Harlot chance to Love again? I mean such Love as Lewdness
can impart, Bred in the Blood--but never in the Heart. With softning
presents he would Cure her mind, To him, and only to him, to be Kind.
But were the Indies all within his Pow'r To give, he would but lavish all
his Store, He might confine the Sea, as soon as her. What then (since
Love no Rival will submit) Must he indure that with this plague do's
meet: When every Thought is Death and Discontent To know, what he
wants power to prevent, The case can only this conclusion have, He's
twice more wretched than a Galley-slave.
The Ninth Pleasure of a Town Life.
This has some Jilt for a long time sustain'd, Who has Imperious o'er his
Pocket reign'd; At length grown weary of so loose a Life, Or for some
other Cause, he takes a wife: The Jilt now like a Fury flings and tears,
Ten thousand Oaths to be reveng'd she swears: Threatens to come
before his very Door, For Whores are plagues that never give you o'er:
There in the open Street to act the Scene, And let the World know what
a Spark he's been: This; may be some fair promises prevents, If
constantly attended with the pence; For Whores and Fidlers this one
Rule advance, Of old; no longer Pipe, no longer Dance. But if the
Promis'd Pension he withdraws, The Fury then again Exerts her Claws:
Thus he a charge, continual intails, Besides the Curse, the Noise, and
all things else;
The Tenth Pleasure of a Town Life,
Another Harlot works by various means, And acts a Jilt's true part
behind the Scenes, [*?]nds the kind Bubble of a pliant Size, And
Spreads a subtle Net to catch her Prize, With greater ease to drive him
in the same, She first obtains his Residence, and Name, Two useful
Perquisites for her design; The Shallow Easie Fop to undermine; A
Mesiage next she sends to let him know, Convey'd by some such useful
Rogue as R----w; That she's with Child--and by the Love she bore, It
must be him--for she was never so before. Which he with wonderful
Surprize receives, And for the present some few Guineas gives, Thus
he's impos'd on by a wretched Cheat, And er'e he finds it out; pays

dearly for his Wit.
The Eleventh Pleasure of a Town Life.
Nor this alone Debauch'ry comprehends, The forward Age to other vice
descends, And Youth e're he'as attain'd good Sence to think, Addicts
himself with Pride, to swear and drink: [*?]'s Rules Immoral from
Example take, And e're he's turn'd of fifteen, turns a Rake: [*?]ots in
Sin--(nothing that's Lewd shall scape And on his Virgin Health commits
a Rape, Forsaking Reason--grows to Vice a Slave, And e'r he's Thirty
drops into his Grave.
The Twelfth Plague of a Town Life,
Another has a better Progress made, And binds himself Apprentice to
the Trade; A parboyl'd Sot, without one Spark of Grace, Whose nightly
Sins are number'd on his Face: Which with the Rags upon his back
make out, The very Arms and Ensigns of a Sot: Who like a Rat into
Some Corner goes, And dies Unpittied both by Friends and Foes.
The Thirteenth Pleasure of a Town Life.