A Nights Search :: :: University of Virginia Library

Cvstome comes thick; she cannot serve their turns,
Her wil's to do't; with lust her body burns.
Having a sister that's a handsome maid,
By her temptations she's at last betrai'd;
Seeing her pomp, her jewels, and attire,
Brave company, the money for her hire:
This silly girle, her honesty, good name,
Doth put to sale; and glories in the same.

Come, take my counsell, do not be a foole,
To make a purle; for what thou learn'dst at schoole,
Will not maintaine thee: and thy father's dead,
Left thee no meanes; sell, sell thy maiden-head,

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And be not peevish: thou may'st have a prize
Will raise thy fortunes, if thou wilt be wise.
The work is easie, 'tis delight and pleasure;
Foole, use thine owne, and thou shalt purchase treasure;
Didst thou but know what pleasure there is seated,
Soon would'st thou yeild, thou need'st not be intreated:
The proverb's true, Frost genders not with fire.
To things unknowne there is no great desire.
Do, be a drudge; if thou be built for toyle,
Go settle to't: and leave the golden spoyle,
Which thou might'st take, if thou would'st cast a trench:
Thou wast not made to be a kitchin-wench.
For divers Knights, and Gallants would attend thee,
What e're thou'dst have, they'l either give or lend thee;
Which is all one: what e're it be that men
Do lend me once, I never pay't agen.
'Las, what had I? my povertie was knowne,
As much as thine; now happy windes have blowne
Me golden dust: if I had been an Asse,
T'have been so coy to let that season passe,
What had I done? no, no, I had more wit;
Now here thou seest, how Lady-like I sit:
My table's furnisht richly still with fare,
All which comes free, I never do take care:
My charge of living, plainly doth appeare,
Amounts unto a thousand pounds a yeare.
Be rul'd by me, I speake because I love thee,
Of all thy kindred none shall be above thee.
'Tis for thy sake, that I relate this story,
Beleeve thine eyes, and think upon my glory.
All honour me, a Knight would faine me wed,
But he'res the spight, that Cuckold is not dead.
What, all amort? doth not my counsell please thee?
Speak, pettish foole, thy mind; and that will ease thee.

141

Sister, though I am poore, I hold it no disgrace,
My honestie's my portion; and my face
Is not asham'd; I dare to shew it where
You cannot yours, unlesse it be in feare.
With my condition, I am well contented;
Though you are rais'd, you are to be lamented!
My labour likes me; but the world can tell,
You go the way which ends at last in hell.

What is your state, for all your costly diet?
'Tis true content, to have a conscience quiet.
What should I do, if I commit such evill,
But give my soule and body to the Devill?
What you enjoy, is all but painted glory,
The repetition makes a shamefull story.
Should I consent, then all that did me meet,
Would blaze my shame along the open street:
What e're I got, what would availe my store,
When all shall point, and say, There goes a whore?
And when I dye, my sins would then out-live me;
Such gaine is losse, and what the world can give me,
Can no whit coole the scalding heat of sin,
Nor bribe the conscience; but it will bring in
A sad relation to increase my smart;
Then pleasing sin will prove a mortall dart.
Pray urge me not, the stones your words do heare,
They melt with passion, and they quake with feare.
The rustling leaves do grumble at your talk,
The trees do threaten vengeance as we walk.
See how the grasse is now bedew'd with teares,
O're-spred with palenesse, over-charg'd with feares;
The fish did spie us, as they were at play,
And were asham'd, and so they slunk away.
Bright Phœbus too is hid behind a clowd,
To blast your counsell; being not allow'd.

142

The world affords no place for sin to dwell;
T'go out is worse, for 'tis to go to hell.
The truth ere long this sinfull world shall finde,
And have reward, all suted in their kinde.
What, growne precise? what conscionable stuffe
You trade in now! I know you have enough;
Pray sell me some; and I will pay you well,
But passe your word, it shall me keepe from hell,
Conscience, I think, it is you prate about:
He's hang'd long since, to put you out of doubt.
You shew your wit; is this for my reward,
To get you freed? and giving you regard?
'Twas meerly love to you that did incite me
To do you good; but ill you do requite me.
You saucie slut! is this the thanks I have
To trick you up, and make you fine and brave,
To censure me? and slight me for my paines?
You'll damne me for't, and curse me, and my gaines.
Pray get you gone, and if you cannot brooke it,
A better place, let conscience go and seeke it.

I'll heare no lectures, nor be taught by you,
I know enough: your counsell is so new,
'Tis not digested; never see me more,
Nor call me sister, be thou nere so poore,
I'll never owne thee; nor the least reliefe
Will give to thee to qualifie thy griefe.
Your Maiden-head, and honesty together,
Will feed you then; and cloath you from the weather.
Conscience is but a Tyrant, at the best,
And in distresse will never let thee rest.
The Law of Nature bids thus take delight,
And makes things meet to please our appetite.
It kindles love, and breeds desire to it:
Who durst say, 'Tis not lawfull then to do it?

143

Some Bedlam Stoick did at first devise
(That wanted nature) treason stuft with lies,
To mew us up. The earth had too much treasure,
When all was free; and all might take their pleasure?
Have birds free leave to change once every yeare?
And beasts in common 'gender free from feare?
Shall we that once were made to keepe them under,
Enjoy lesse sweet, in being kept asunder?
A learned Poet sutes a Bedlams dreame,
And idle nurses, to the conscience theame.
“The lesse the better then, whence this will fall,
“'Tis to be perfect, to have none at all.
'Tis not for youth, but for declining age,
To act a winter Satyre on the stage.
“Frost is till then prodigious, we may do
“What lustfull youth and pleasure prompts us to.

What say'st to this, thou froward silly girle?
Which wilt thou chuse, the pibble, or the pearle?
To live in credit? or receive disgrace?
In some poore cottage, still to hide thy face?
Do'st love the warmth? or do'st affect the cold?
Gaine something young, or beg when thou art old.
Come, learne some wit; my care of thee is such,
That joynes with love, which makes me speak so much,
Feare thou not hell, or ever to be cast
From heaven: why? we may repent at last.

This silly virgin now is in distresse!
Faine would she speake; but words cannot expresse
Her troubled minde: she slides downe silent teares:
Her face is wan; within she's full of feares.
She would deny, but feares her sisters blame,
She would consent, but that she feares the shame.
She viewes the state, and has desire to it;
She now resolves, and yet she will not do it;

144

She'd faine be gone, but that she knowes not whither,
She'l stay, then go, and yet conclude of neither.

How is thy comely visage changed quite!
How is the Rose fell from the Lilly white
That were compos'd so lovely in thy face!
They're hid with teares, and left thee in disgrace.
Alas! thy griefe cannot be well exprest!
A world of care torments thy tender brest!
Thou want'st a friend; oh! that I had been by!
I'd have thee live, as one day thou would'st dye.
One graine of grace, is better than the world,
Perfumes thy dust, when in thy grave thou'rt hurl'd.
Where's now thy courage? think but how that gaine,
That's got by sin, will breed eternall paine:
Though time be short, thou wilt out-live thy pleasure,
Then all thy gaine will prove but hell-bred treasure.

Why do'st thou sleepe, thou registerst within?
What, art thou brib'd? that thou do'st wink at sin?
Or do'st thou wait (till wrath shall cloud the weather)
For hungry death, to sum up all together?

Yet she resolves to cast those dumps away;
Though not invited; they conclude to stay,
To vex her more: till at the last by sin
She strives by force, to let ill spirits in.
Now she's possest. Alas! she is ensnar'd,
Forgets the curse that is in hell prepar'd
For desp'rate sinners: O! thou foole! to sell
Thy selfe, and make an entrance into hell!

She's confident (and will no more be crost)
Her maiden-head is sweetest, when 'tis lost.
For gaine she trades; she sels (she hath such tricks)
Her maiden-head, at least, to five, or six.
When she can hide no longer this device,
Then she grows common at a lower price.

145

He leave her here, I have no hope to mend her,
I wish her turne againe, or death to end her.

Now for the whore which was the cause of this,
She glories in't; there's nothing done amisse
In her conceit; her heart is like a rock;
And she's as shamelesse as a senslesse stock.
To this preferment hath she brought her brother,
To make him whisk in, and deceive the other.

But now this letcher is return'd againe
To court this whore, but more and more the staine
Doth take impression; for she hath bereft him
Of all his honour; and his friends have left him.
Alas poore man! thy pleasure and thy ease
Do make thee senslesse: but a worse disease
Doth creep upon thee, than the world can bring.
After the hony thou must have the sting,
And at the best thy honey's mixt with gall;
And with the bait thou tak'st the hook and all.
What, past all cure? let conscience speak thy shame,
Then shew thee hell, and parch thee with the flame
Set all thy sins in habit, like a devill,
In battell ray, to fright thee from this evill:

Let every beast, where e're thou dost him see,
Shew that thou art a truer beast than he!
And all men still that do upon thee look,
Put thee in minde of that great Sessions book,
By which the world is try'd! and let the earth
Slight thee as much as any monstrous birth!
And let the warblers of the aire now speak
To thy disgrace! the clouds with fury break,
Drop down revenge! the heavens fixed eyes
Blush at thy presence! and the lofty skies
Look pale upon thee! let those moving powers
Present thee wrath! and let all fragrant flowers

146

Bow downe their heads, still to thee let their smell
Be like that brimstone, which does burne in hell!
Let every creature sound (as being taught)
This is the man that sold himselfe for nought!

His whore and he begin to be so slighted,
They cannot walk, unlesse they be benighted,
But powted at: and all their meeting places
Deny them shelter, sham'd to owne their faces;
But spue them out: their lodgings oft they change,
Being wearie of them; and a thing not strange,
Shame still is constant! and it growes much stronge.
Like evening shadows that are ever longer,
The neerer night; and at all turnes it takes them:
Keepes closest then, though their best friend forsakes them.
Those little Wags, that meet them in the street,
Will dog them home; and then they will them greet
With Whore-master, with Pander, and with Whore;
They try their skill to drive them from the dore.
To purchase freedome, they must draw their swords;
Those knavish boyes will not be still'd with words.