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All which he makes the servants of the groin,
Thither it flows! how much did Stallion spend
To have his court-bred filly there commend
His lace and starch; and fall upon her back
In admiration, stretched upon the rack
Of lust, to his rich suit, and title, Lord?
Ay, that's a charm and half! she must afford
That all respect; she must lie down; nay, more,
"Tis there civility to be a whore;

He's one of blood and fashion! and with these
The bravery makes she can no honor leese:
To do't with cloth, or stuffs, lust's name might
merit;

With velvet, plush, and tissues, it is spirit!

O, these so ignorant monsters! light, as proud, Who can behold their manners, and not cloudLike upon them lighten? If Nature could Not make a verse, anger or laughter would, To see 'em aye discoursing with their glass, How they may make some one that day an ass, Planting their purls and curls, spread forth like net,

And every dressing for a pitfall set

To catch the flesh in, and to pound a prick;
Be at their visits, see 'em squeamish, sick,
Ready to cast at one whose band sits ill,
And then leap mad on a neat pickardil,19

19 A stiff collar, or ruff, generally with sharp points; supposed to be derived from picca, a spear-head. This ruff came into fashion early in the reign of James I.; and,

As if a brize 20

were gotten in their tail;

And firk, and jerk, and for the coachman rail,
And jealous each of other, yet think long
To be abroad chanting some bawdy song,
And laugh, and measure thighs, then squeak,
spring, itch,

Do all the tricks of a salt lady bitch!

For t'other pound of sweetmeats, he shall feel
That pays, or what he will: the dame is steel;
For these with her young company she'll enter,
Where Pitts, or Wright, or Modet would not
venture;

And comes by these degrees, the style t' inherit,
Of woman of fashion, and a lady of spirit.
Nor is the title questioned; with our proud,
Great, brave, and fashioned folk, these are allowed;
Adulteries now are not so hid or strange,
They're grown commodity upon Exchange;
He that will follow but another's wife,
Is loved, though he let out his own for life;
The husband's now called churlish, or a poor
Nature, that will not let his wife be a whore;
Or use all arts, or haunt all companies
That may corrupt her, even in his eyes.
The brother trades a sister; and the friend
Lives to the lord, but to the lady's end.

Less must not be thought on than mistress; or

according to some authorities, gave its name to the street, Piccadilly.-B.

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If it be thought, killed like her embrions; for,
Whom no great mistress hath as yet infamed,
A fellow of coarse lechery is named.
The servant of the serving-woman, in scorn,
Ne'er came to taste the plenteous marriage-horn.
Thus they do talk. And are these objects fit
For man to spend his money on? his wit?

His time? health? soul? will he for these go throw

Those thousands on his back, shall after blow His body to the Counters," or the Fleet?

Is it for these that Fine-man meets the street Coached, or on foot-cloth, thrice changed every day,

To teach each suit he has, the ready way
From Hyde-park to the stage, where at the last
His dear and borrowed bravery he must cast?
When not his combs, his curling-irons, his glass,
Sweet bags, sweet powders, nor sweet words will
pass

For less security? O heavens! for these
Is it that man pulls on himself disease,
Surfeit, and quarrel? drinks the t'other health?
Or by damnation voids it, or by stealth?
What fury of late is crept into our feasts?
What honor given to the drunkenest guests?
What reputation to bear one glass more,

21 Or compters; a familiar phrase for a debtor's prison. Some of these prisons were Poultry compter, Borough compter, Wood-street compter.

When oft the bearer is borne out of door?
This hath our ill-used freedom, and soft peace
Brought on us, and will every hour increase.
Our vices do not tarry in a place,

But being in motion still, or rather in race,
Tilt one upon another, and now bear

This way, now that, as if their number were
More than themselves, or than our lives could

take,

But both fell pressed under the load they make.
I'll bid thee look no more, but, flee, flee, friend,
This precipice, and rocks that have no end,
Or side, but threatens ruin. The whole day
Is not enough, now, but the nights to play.
And whilst our states, strength, body, and mind
we waste,

Go make ourselves the usurers at a cast.
He that no more for age, cramps, palsies can
Now use the bones, we see doth hire a man
To take the box up for him, and pursues
The dice with glassen eyes, to the glad viewers
Of what he throws: like lechers grown content
To be beholders, when their powers are spent.

Can we not leave this worm? or will we not?
Is that the truer excuse? or have we got
In this, and like, an itch of vanity,
That scratching now's our best felicity?
Well, let it go. Yet this is better than
To lose the forms and dignities of men,
To flatter my good lord, and ery his bowl

Runs sweetly, as it had his lordship's soul;-
Although, perhaps, it has, what's that to me,
That may stand by, and hold my peace? will he,
When I am hoarse with praising his each cast,
Give me but that again, that I must waste
In sugar candied, or in buttered beer,
For the recovery of my voice? No, there
Pardon his lordship; flattery's grown so cheap
With him, for he is followed with that heap
That watch, and catch, at what they may applaud,
As a poor single flatterer, without bawd
Is nothing, such, scarce meat and drink he'll give;
But he that's both, and slave to both, shall live,
And be beloved, while the whores last. O times!
Friend, fly from hence, and let these kindled
rhymes

Light thee from hell on earth; where flatterers, spies,

Informers masters both of arts and lies;
Lewd slanderers, soft whisperers that let blood
The life, and fame-veins—yet not understood
Of the poor sufferers; where the envious, proud,
Ambitious, factious, superstitious, loud-
Boasters, and perjured, with the infinite more
Prevaricators swarm; of which the store,
(Because they're everywhere amongst mankind
Spread through the world,) is easier far to find,
Than once to number, or bring forth to hand,
Though thou wert muster-master of the land.

Go, quit 'em all! And take along with thee,

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