The Whores and Bawds Answer to the Fifteen Comforts of Whoring | Page 3

ruin bring;?Then how we Strumpets do rejoyce to see,?The wiser Sex undone by Lechery.
_The Fifteenth Comfort of Whoring Answer'd._
But now good lack-a-day our Trade's so bad,?That truly Customers can scarce be had,?Through those sly Whore's that do in privat dwell, So (but a story sad it is to tell)?Our common Whores can scarce their Livings get?By all the means of an intrieguing Wit.?For _Drury Lane_, in _Fleetstreet_ or the _Strand_, Hours we walk e're any by the Hand,?Will take us, wherefore as we daggle home,?Some prick-louse _Taylor_ strutting up will come,?With whom for want we're forced to comply,?for one poor two pence wet, and two pence dry.
_FINIS._

THE
Fifteen PLAGUES
OF A
Maiden-Head
Written by Madam B----le.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
Printed by F.P. near _Fleet-street_, 1707.
THE
Fifteen Plagues of a
Maiden-Head, _&c._
_The First Plague._
The Woman Marry'd is Divinely Blest,?But I a Virgin cannot take my Rest;?I'm discontented up, as bad a Bed,?Because I'm plagued with my Maiden-head;?A thing that do's my blooming Years no good,?But only serves to freeze my youthful Blood,?Which slowly Circulates, do what I can,?For want of Bleeding by some skilful Man;?Whose tender hand his _Launcet_ so will guide,?That I the Name of _Maid_ may lay aside.
_The Second Plague._
When I've beheld an am'rous Youth make Love,?And swearing Truth by all the Gods above,?How has it strait inflam'd my sprightly Blood?Creating Flames, I scarcely should withstood,?But bid him boldly march, not grant me leisure?Of Parley, for 'tis Speed augments the Pleasure.?Sirrah! tis my Misfortune not to meet?With any Man that would my Passion greet,?If he with balmy Kisses stop'd my Breath,?From which one cannot die a better Death,?Or stroke my Breasts, those Mountains of Delight,?Your very Touch would fire an Anchorite;?Next let your wanton Palm a little stray,?And dip thy Fingers in the milky way:?Then having raiz'd me, let me gently fall,?Love's Trumpets sound, so Mortal have at all.?But why wish I this Bliss? I wish in vain,?And of my plaguy Burthen do complain;?For sooner may I see whole Nations dead,?But I find one to get my Maiden-head.
_The Third Plague._
She that her Maiden-head does keep, runs through More Plagues than all the Land of _Egypt_ knew;?A teazing Whore, or a more tedious Wife,?Plagues not a Marry'd Man's unhappy Life,?As much as it do's me to be a Maid,?Of which same Name I am so much afraid,?Because I've often heard some People tell,?They that die Maids, must all lead Apes in Hell;?And so 'twere better I had never been,?Than thus to be perplex'd: _God save the Queen._
_The Fourth Plague._
When trembling Pris'ners all stand round the Bar, A strange suspence about the fatal Verdict,?And when the Jury crys they Guilty are,?How they astonish'd are when they have heard it.?When in mighty Storm a Ship is toss'd,?And all do ask, What do's the Captain say??How they (poor Souls) bemoan themselves as lost,?When his Advice at last is only, Pray!?So as it was one Day my pleasing Chance,?To meet a handsome young Man in a Grove,?Both time and place conspir'd to advance?The innocent Designs of charming Love.?I thought my Happiness was then compleat,?Because 'twas in his Pow'r to make it so;?I ask'd the Spark if he would do the Feat,?But the unperforming Blockhead answer'd, _No_.?Poor Prisoners may, I see, have Mercy shewn,?And Shipwreck'd Men may sometimes have the Luck,?To see their dismal Tempests overblown,?But I poor Virgin never shall be F----.
_The Fifth Plague._
All Day poor I do sit Disconsolate,?Cursing the grievous Rigor of my Fate,?To think how I have seven Years betray'd,?To that dull empty Title of a Maid.?If that I could my self but Woman write,?With what transcendent Pleasure and Delight,?Should I for ever, thrice for ever Bless,?The Man that led me to such Happiness.
_The Sixth Plague._
Pox take the thing Folks call a Maiden-head,?For soon as e'er I'm sleeping in my Bed,?I dream I'm mingling with some Man my Thigh,?Till something more than ord'nary does rise;?But when I wake and find my Dream's in vain,?I turn to Sleep only to Dream again,?For Dreams as yet are only kind to me,?And at the present quench my Lechery.
_The Seventh Plague._
Of late I wonder what's with me the Matter,?For I look like Death, and am as weak as Water,?For several Days I loath the sight of Meat,?And every Night I chew the upper Sheet;?[*?]e such Obstructions, that I'm almost moap'd,?And breath as if my Vitals all were stop'd.?I told a Friend how strange with me it was,?She, an experienc'd Bawd, soon grop'd the Cause,?Saying, _for this Disease, take what you can,?You'll ne'er be well, till you have taken Man._?Therefore, before with Maiden-heads I'll be?Thus plagu'd, and live in daily Misery,?Some Spark shall rummage all my Wem about,?To find this wonderful Distemper out.
_The Eighth Plague._
Now I am young, blind _Cupid_ me bewitches,?I scratch my Belly, for it always itches,?And what it itches for, I've told before,?'Tis either to be Wife, or be a Whore;?Nay any thing