The Whores and Bawds Answer to the Fifteen Comforts of Whoring | Page 5

in telling, as some say,

When 'twas they did at Hoity-Toity play;
Whose Husband's Yard is
longest, whilst another
Can't in the least her great Misfortune smother,

So tells, her Husband's Bauble is so short,
That when he Hunts, he
never shews her Sport.
Now I, because I have my Maiden-head,

Mayn't know the Pastimes of the Nuptial Bed;
But mayn't I quickly
do as Marry'd People may,
I'll either kill my self, or shortly run away.
_FINIS._

_The_ Maids _Vindication:_
OR, THE
Fifteen Comforts of living a Single Life.
Being an _ANSWER_ to the _Fifteen
Plagues of a Maiden-head_.
_Written by a Gentlewoman._
[Illustration]
_London_, Printed for _J. Rogers_ in _Fleet-Street_, 1707.
_The_ Maids _Vindication:_
OR,
The Fifteen Comforts of
being a Maid, _&c._
_The First Comfort._
Ye _British_ Maids with _British_ Beauty blest,
Wife as you're Fair,
of ev'ry Grace possest,
Do not the least degenerate from your Worth,

Nor be less Chaste because you're thus set forth;
Have Patience
then, and I'll revenge your Cause,
And all the deep Designs of wicked

Men expose,
Shew the dear Comforts of a Single Life,
With all the
Plagues and Ills of Wh----re or Wife.
_The Second Comfort._
Tell me you Grave Disputers of the Schools,
You learned Coxcombs,
and you well read Fools;
You that have told us, Man must be our
Head,
And made _Dame Nature_ Pimp to what you've said,
Tell me
where are the Joys of womans Life,
When she consents to be a
wedded Wife:
Much less if she too kind and easie proves,
And
grants her Heart to one that swears he loves,
I will not call her
W----re, because I know
'Twas his false Oaths and Lyes that made
her so:
But you that would to your own selves be just,
Nor Friend
nor Husband but with caution trust.
_The Third Comfort._
And first, the greatest lasting'st Plague of Life, Husband; the Constant
Jaylor of a wife,
A proud insulting dominering thing,
Abroad a
subject, but at Home a King,
There he in State does Arbitrary Reign,

And lordlike pow'r do's o'er his wife maintain.
For when she puts
the Marriage Garments on, } The pleasures Ended e'er 'tis well begun: }
But Plagues increase and hardly e're have done, } The joy he Courted
he dispises now,
And do's a perfect Married Nausiance grow,
_The Fourth Comfort._
It's Jealousie that maggot of the pate,
Possess the Sot, how violent's
his hate,
What curst suspitions haunt his tortur'd Mind,
And make
him look for what he would not find,
Nothing but Females must i'th
House appear,
And not a Dog or Cat, that's Male be there,
Nay lest
the unhappy wife shou'd have her longings, He cuts out all the Men i'th
Tapstry Hangings,
And if a harmless Letter's to her sent,
He'll make
it speak worse sense than e'er it meant.
_The Fifth Comfort._

In a Curst Chamber, Cloyster'd up for Life,
Loves Female Innocence
miscall'd a wife,
Deny'd those Pleasures are to Virtue granted,

Yearly the Devil of a Husband haunted,
for a Release she cannot
Hope nor Pray,
Till milder Death takes him, or her away,
If her
she's happy, and if him she's bless'd,
Till to her arms she takes a
second Guest.
_The Sixth Comfort._
If Beauty, Wit, or Com[*?]aisance would do,
There's women that can
all these wonders show,
Beauty that might new fire to Hermit lend,

And wit which serves that Beauty to defend,
who courted, cou'd do
wonders with those Charms,
Till Parson conjur'd her to Husbands
Arms,
And tho' the same perfections still remain
Yet nothing now
can the dull Creature gain,
No looks can win him, nor no Smiles
invite,
He now does her, and her Endearments slight,
And leaves
those Graces which he shou'd adore,
To dote upon some Ugly suburb
whore,
whilst poor neglected Spouse remains at home,
with
discontent and Sorrow overcome,
No prayers, nor tears, nor all the
Virtuous arts.
which women use to tame Rebellous Hearts.
Can the
Incorrigible H[*?] move,
And make him own his once so promis'd
love,
_The Seventh Comfort_
Oh she a happy, too too happy Bride,
That has a Husband snoring by
her side,
Belching out Fumes of undigested wine,
And lies all Night
like a good natur'd Swine,
whose Snoring serves as Musick to her
Ears,
And keeps true Confort with her silent Tears,
That can
himself no more than _Chaos_ move,
And still neglects the great
affair of love,
She may indeed assume the name of wife,
But others
know she's but a Nurse for life.
_The Eighth Comfort._

A drunken Husband tho may have good nature,
But