A Nights Search :: :: University of Virginia Library

A common Strumpet (as I heard it told)
Being impudent (for whores are ever bold)
She tempted many with her flatt'ring tongue;
And with her eyes to death were many stung.

Sh'ad all the ways that might be had to gaine
Fresh customers: at last she did so staine
The Towne she dwelt in, that a course was taken
To drive her thence; she was of all forsaken:
For she grew odious; time had blaz'd her name,
Her lewd light carriage still did speake her shame.
She hangs out colours; when her Imps came in,
She fell againe unto her wonted sin.
A publike house she keepes; all men may be
There entertain'd; more common now is she
Than high-way Truls; though she be now remote,
Vermin do smell, and then begin to dote
Vpon her painted face: she rules the rost,
And every Iack's corivall to mine Host.
He can digest it, though his horns do grow.
(A Tinker patch'd his face, and peec'd his brow.)
She wants nor money, pleasure, sport, nor ease,
Thus trades a while, untill the foule disease
Doth seize upon her; then her tempting tongue
Begins to faulter, and her breath's so strong
None can abide it; and her wanton eye
Bewrays her shame; and both her jawes do cry,
We are undone: for P: hath seiz'd upon us
With violence, to take our teeth quite from us.

Paine follows pleasure! she can only crawle,
She's loath'd of many, but she's shunn'd of all.
Her rascall crew forsake her, having spi'd it,
Alas, poore Host! he only must abide it!
In this distresse she doth her selfe bemone,
What shall I do? my friends are from me gone!
And I am left to end my dayes in griefe!
No meanes I have to bring me in reliefe!
To serve my lust, how did I daily strive?
And for reward, now I must rot alive!

My shame is noysed everywhere about,
I'me like a monster; boyes do hisse me out!
The Surgeon must be paid; but where's the coyne?
'Las I am weary of this life of mine!
All that have reason, do abhor my sight;
Darknesse attends me; for I loath'd the light!

Me thinks the beasts cry, as they daily feed,
(As I go by) There goes a beast indeed!
The fowles all day do at my window call,
And chatter curses, wishing for my fall.
I cannot look towards Heav'n, but despaire,
Nor but with horror wave the gentle aire:
Nor without dread, once tread upon the ground,
Or any way, but hell besets me round.

In this mad fit, she does at last conclude,
(See how the Devill does poore Imps delude!
First to presume; that acted, to despaire;
The storme is gathering, while the weather's faire)
To end her life, and fall by her owne hand;
She has no power, Sathan to withstand.
She'd hang her selfe, but that she wants a place:
(But I dare say, that 'tis for want of grace,
That she attempts it) For she has a halter,
The beame's too high, and so her minde does alter.
At last a beame she findes that's very low,
The halter's laid, but where she does not know,
So she's dismist: but having place and rope
Another time, O! now she is in hope
To doe the deed: but being then prevented,
Prolong'd her life: yet being discontented,
She plots afresh; and findes another way,
How she untroubled may herselfe destroy.

A well was neare her, which was very deepe;
(Though she was rotten) she did crawle, or creepe

Vnto this well; and head-long threw her selfe;
Her life there ended; so this noisome elfe
Was taken up, as cold as any stone,
She being breathlesse: for her soule was gone.
Whether, God knows: I will not sentence passe;
I feare the worst: I shew you how it was.
A dreadfull spectacle! this horrid sight
Fill'd the beholders with amazement, fright.
Her clothes all being long (not long in getting)
Are now too short, for they are shrunk i'th' wetting:
Her countenance was black, her tongue hung out;
Her eyes wide open, but she's blind, no doubt.

Foole, why didst thou against thy life rebell?
Didst think to ease thy selfe? didst think that hell
Was but a fable? griefe I doubt begins!
Selfe murther's judg'd next to the worst of sinnes,
Didst think that water would so coole thy sore,
To ease thy paine? lust was asswag'd before.
Did Sathan presse thee? or didst thou appeare
Proffring thy selfe to him, as volunteere?
Long in a journey didst thou scorne to dwell,
That thou didst seek a neerer way to hell?
Or didst thou think, that by thy selfe alone,
Thou'dst have thy hel, or else thou wouldst have none?
Didst think thy shame, & pain would then have ended,
Or else with hell-hounds think to be befriended?

Though like a beast thou liv'dst, thou didst undo
Thy selfe; for why? thou canst not dye so too.
Worse than a beast thou art, and hadst lesse wit;
They'are taught by Nature to avoyd a pit.
Thou heardst that hell was in a place below;
Didst goe to see, because thou didst not know
That was a truth? or whether it was deep?
Or what those vermine are, that there do creep?

The Well was deepe, but yet it had a ground;
And hatefull creepers were, where thou wast drownd.
Poore foole! alas! didst not beleeve, nor feare
In hell was fire, but no water there?
'Tis bottomlesse; it had bin best for thee
To have beleev'd it, not to go and see:
But this I thinke, thou couldst not judge but hell
Was very large; or larger than the Well:
Sure thou didst thinke, 'twas but the way into it.
Yet thou wast worse than mad when thou didst do it.
These silly creepers that have here abode,
The Frogs, the Lizard, or the loathsome Toade,
Are not so odious: (nor their shreeks, nor cries
Like them in hell:) nor of so large a size.

We'll hasten now to bring her to her grave:
The Crowner cals a Iury; found they have
She onely guilty of this fact committed,
And suffer'd for't: yet she's of no man pittied.
They parle, and do condemne her; for this cause
A Crosse-way grave, according to the lawes,
Is made for her; and thither she is brought
And tumbled in, just like a thing of naught.
Being covered, a stake is driven in
Quite through her Corps, to shew her hainous sin.
Her friends were sham'd (if she had any left)
She through her vildenesse was of all bereft)
None durst be seene, all did so much abhor her:
For not one griev'd, no shew of mourning for her.
All mouthes are open still, to blaze her shame,
But eares disdaine to entertaine her name.
The fowles do cry, and will not be at rest,
For being disappointed of their feast.
The wormes had had the best on't when she sunke,
But could not once come neere her 'cause she stunke.

Muse leave her there still as a way-marke curse,
And wish all better, but none ever worse.

But where's mine Host so long? he's gone astray,
Or else to grasse, to cast his hornes away.
But do's he not go rogueing up and downe,
And leave his children now to charge the towne?
Or is he so in debt, that even the light
Is hatefull to him, so plaies least in sight?
Or has he not some Iaylor to attend him?
Or has he not the pox that soon will end him?
Ile send no hue and cry; 'tis not my taske:
After this time Ile never for him aske.

Her Epitaph.

Here lies a whore that did exceed in evill;
She common was, and had the pox 'twas known:
She'd more, and more acquaintance with the devill:
At last she was by her own hand o'rethrown.
Let passers by take notice of this stake,
That they may fear, and warning by her take.