LITMIR.BIZ

      If any Man's in Love with any Whore,

      Why ought he not to lavish all his Store

      Upon her? Since, to make the Fop admire,

      Those prety Features which sets him a fire,

      She's often at the Charge of Velvit Hoods,

      Silk Stockins, Velvit Scarves and other Goods,

      Lac'd Shoes, rich Mantoe's, Gloves and Diamond Rings

      Fine Linnen, Gowns, and other costly things.

      If any has a Jilt some time sustain'd,

      Who has imperious o're his Pocket reign'd,

      And he's grown weary of so sweet a Life,

      Or else being jealous takes to him a Wife;

      The Whore can do no less than fling and tear,

      And on th' inconstant Coxcomb Vengeance swaer,

      For leaving her in this her state of Sin;

      And let the World know what the Spark has been,

      Unless a Pension he to her allows,

      That she may not his Roguery disclose.

      T'is true we Harlots work by various means,

      And act our Parts behind too diff'rent Scenes;

      Sometimes we do a Bastard lay to those,

      That never did so much as touch our Cloaths;

      Perhaps too ne'er were in our Company,

      So Guineas get by this same Subtilty;

      And many times a Pocket too we pick,

      For at no mischief will a Strumpit stick;

      For once a Woman's bad, there's no relief

      By being only Whore, but also Thief.

      We'll have you know, of Whores are very few,

      That will to any Man be ever true;

      To us all Men for Money are alike,

      With Skips as soon as Beaus we bargains strike;

      And gad no sooner is a Cully gone,

      But quick another in his Room gets on.

      Besides great Charges we are at for Cloaths,

      To tempt the Fancies of our cringing Beaus,

      We Pimps and Bullies keep to be our Bail,

      When Sharping Bailiffs nabb us for a Jayl.

      Again as we to Bridewel oft are sent,

      To undergo a flauging Punishment,

      A bribe to him that Whips us then is gi'n,

      To have Compassion to our tender Skin.

      With pretty winning ways we do assure,

      Our selves to bring the Woodcocks to our Lure

      As ogling wishfully, and having Tongue,

      Which tho' 'tis false, yet with good Language hung

      And if we have a Voice that's good, we sing

      And Syren like our Fops to ruin bring;

      Then how we Strumpets do rejoyce to see,

      The wiser Sex undone by Lechery.

      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.