The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony: Responses from Men Part 2

I wonder where this spiteful Author finds such wanton Women, with such l.u.s.tful Minds; Unless he speaks by knowledg of his own, Whose Lewdness is the Scandal of the Town; If so, he's not mistaken in his Mark, For Joan's _as good as_ Lady _in the Dark_: But 'tis unjust to tax all Womankind, With Vices proper to one single mind.

If some are bad, I only this shall say, I pity those that wed with such as they.

_Answer to the Eleventh Mock Comfort._

This by Experience, as I said before, You speak because you married such a Wh----re; The words themselves as plain, as plain can be Describe your self, that you are only He, The very Actions with your cheating Bride, In l.u.s.tful Sport, when you lay by her side; How by degrees she did the Fool deceive With fained Blushes make you then believe Her Virgin Fort well fortify'd within, Free from Attacks of such a pleasing Sin: What e'er the Picture wants of being true, Is, that it looks not so deform'd as you.

_Answer to the Twelfth Mock Comfort._

Tho' some are blindly led, and others run, And make both haste and speed to be undone; This alters not the Case in any wise, But that a Man sometimes may get a Prize, If some be wanton in obscure Nookes, And _Ape_ the _Saint_, by framing modest Looks; Deceive the Husband, with her cunning Wiles, And cheat his Senses with her feigned smiles, These (I confess,) are hardships to be born, And worse to think the Fore-head tip'd with Horn, But still good Wives, if any such there be, Are real Comforts of a high Degree.

_Answer to the Thirteenth Mock Comfort._

The Lawyer's Wife is brought in for her share, To recompence her Loving Husband's care; As he by Bribes hath Honest Men undone, She gives to Knaves, what he might call his own.

But Drugs and Poysons to a married Wife, I cannot understand it for my Life.

For she that has a Husband need not fear, But all Suspicion soon will disappear.

No matter where or when the Child was got, It always falls unto the Husband's Lot.

_Answer to the Fourteenth Mock Comfort._

'Tis true, a Widow always knows the best, To judge those Joys, which some do call a Jest.

And if her Second Mate prove weak and dull, With Sorrow then be sure her Heart is full.

And who can blame her, if she makes Complaint, For that sweet Comfort to supply her want.

Well may she grieve at such a Cross as this, For that one Fault makes all things go amiss.

If Husband wants what Widows Nature crave } He'd better be condemn'd to be a Slave, } Or make the Raging Sea his Watry Grave. } But if she finds her Pleasures to encrease, Oh! then (my Husband) _how we live in Peace_.

She's then all Charms, no Comforts here below, Are like what she and her dear Spouse do know.

_Answer to the Fifteenth Mock Comfort._

A Peevish Husband makes a peevish Wife, And so brings Scandal on a Married Life.

No wonder then if Sickness and Disease, Brought on by Crosses, doth the Body seize.

All this is owing to a hair-brain'd Man, Whose base ill nature all the strife began.

Then why shou'd Women thus be stil'd a Curse?

When Man himself perhaps is ten times worse.

Perhaps you'll say this is proposterous, In blaming others I my self expose.

I Answer thus, if it was not for shame, I'd this same Minute quite disown the Name.

For Men like you, their Names do sound no more, Than if you call'd an Honest Woman Wh.o.r.e.

FINIS.

ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT.

At the _Pastry-School_, over against the _Compter_ in _Shovel-Ally_ in _Wood-street_, near _Cheapside_; is Sold, a never failing Oyntment that Cures the _GOUT_, altho the Party be reduced to his Crutches,and that in two or three Days time; having often been found True by Experience, to the great Ease and Comfort of many: It also Cures _Rheumatick_ Pains. Likewise a Cure for the _Tooth-Ach_, which Infallibly Cures without Drawing.

The Fifteen COMFORTS of Whoring,

OR,

_The Pleasures of a Town-Life._

Dedicated to the Youth of the present Age.

_By the Author of the Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony._

LONDON Printed in the YEAR, 1706.

The PREFACE.

_I am in a little pain lest the t.i.tle shou'd give Offence to some, whom I am unwilling to disoblige; yet I hope be more Judicious, when they see the design will allow it both their Pardon and Approbation: for 'tis more than a little odds, had I call'd it the Fifteen Plagues of Whoring, whether the young Gentlemen most concerned in it, would have given themselves the trouble to peruse it. As they are Children in their Actions, they must be dealt with like Children, and have their Horn-books Gi[*?]ou the back. This is all the Apology I have to make; which I hope the Moral will explain, and supply all else that might be said upon that Head. Among all other Debaucheries, as the princ.i.p.al, and leading Vice, I shall begin with Whoring._

The Fifteen Comforts of Whoring

_The First Comfort of Whoring._

No sooner Youth throws off his Infant Plays, The harmless Pastime of his happier Days But past a Child, is still in Judgement so, And studies first what he is not to know, Pleasure and Sence his easie Soul entice, Spurr'd forward by his Native Love to Vice: A Mistress now his Fancy entertains, And Youthful Vigour boils within his Brains.

The poor lost Maid he do's with Oaths intice; And loads his Soul with twenty Thousand Lyes; Promises Marriage, Love, a hundred things, Till both himself and her, he to destruction brings.

At length he finds his falsity repaid, And draws the Curse of Heaven on his Head.

_The Second Comfort of Whoring._

By this some Lewder Harlot is Carrest, Who plays the Tyrant in his Am'rous Breast; The Charming Syren touches e'ery String, To keep his busie Fancy on the Wing; All by her whiles, she binds her Captive fast, Sooths him at first, and bubbles him at last.

To feed her Pride, clandestine means he'll take, Rob Friends, or Master; for the Harlot's sake, Still to the greatest Ill's he do's descend, And Ruin only; Ruin Seals his End.

_The Third Pleasure of a Town Life._

What Nature has not done, a Harlot will, (For sure Destruction is her boasted Skill: One Scarce to the full Bloom of Life attain'd, Before of Cramps and Aches he complains, Curses the Jilt--looks pale and wan withal: Wither'd like Fruit by their untimely fall, Go's thro' a hated Course of nauseous Pills, And spends a little thousand Pocky Bills: Perhaps at length he do's get free from pain, But the Effects on't all his Life remain.