No sooner does a Maid arrive to Years,
And she the Pleasures of Conjunction hears,
But strait her Maidenhead a Tip-toe runs,
To get her like, in Daughters or in Sons;
Upon some jolly Lad she casts her Eye,
And with some am’rous Gestures by the by;
She gives him great Encouragement to take
His fill of Love, and swears that for his sake
She soon shall Die; which makes the Youth so hot
To get about the Maiden’s Honey-pot,
That promising her Marriage and the like,
They both a Bargain very quickly Strike;
[*?] Rubbers often take till she does prove
With Child, then she bids adieu to Love;
And e’re she’s brought to Bed away does Creep,
For fear he should the Wenche’s Urchin keep.

The Second Comfort of Whoring, Answer’d.

Now when a Maid has crackt her Maidenhead,
By being once or twice (Sir) brought to Bed,
Her Credit then’s so broke that all her Wit,
And Policy cannot a Husband get;
But yet not being out of Heart she Cries,
From Marriage keeping I shall be more wise,
For if he’s not a Fool he soon will find,
I had before I’d him to some been kind,
Then how he’d call me arrant Bitch and Whore,
And Swear some Stallion had been there before;
Then leave me, Wherefore I will single Live,
And my Invention to decoying give,
For as I was by fickle Man betray’d,
So Men by me too shall be Bubbles made,
Till the dull Sots clandestine Means do take,
In robbing Masters,for a Strumpets sake,
For which if they shou’d at the Gallows Swing,
Their End I’d in some merry Ditty Sing.

_ The Third Comfort of whoring answer’d._

What tho’ of Whoring it is the mishap,
Sometimes for him that Ruts to get a Clap,
Or an Invetrate Pox which may expose
His private Sports by Eating off his Nose;
How many by hard Drinking will Roar out
With Aches, Rheumatism’s or the Gout,
When in that gorging, guzling, tipling Sin
There is not half the Pleasure, that there’s in,
The soft Embraces of a Woman who
Altho’ she is not to one Moral true,
Does strive to please your height of amorous Lust,
With such a ravishing and pleasing Gust,
That wou’d an Eunuch tempt to tast the same,
But that he Tools does want to play the Game.

The fourth Comfort of Whoring answer’d.

Tho’ Buboes, Nodes and Ulcers are the Marks,
Of many a wanton Beau and am’rous Sparks
And many a lustful Lecher oft complains
Of restless Days and damn’d nocturnal Pains,
Nays go into a Flux o dozen Weeks,
Is’t not the Man himself these Sorrow seeks? 
Besides, how often see you go astride
A Miss, as if she was with Packthread ty’d;
Who’s Poxt and Clapt as much as you can be,
And undergoes a deal of Misery,
To give your wanton Appetites content,
[*?] feeding you with Flesh, altho’