A Nights Search Discovering the Nature and Condition of Night-Walkers with their associats. Digested into a Poem by Hum. Mill |
 |
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
| 27. |
| 28. |
| 29. |
Sect. 29. |
| 30. |
| 31. |
| 32. |
| 33. |
| 34. |
| 35. |
| 36. |
| 37. |
| 38. |
| 39. |
| 40. |
| 41. |
| 42. |
| 43. |
| 44. |
| 45. |
| 46. |
| 47. |
| 48. |
| 49. |
| 50. |
| 51. |
| 52. |
| 53. |
| 54. |
| 54. |
| 56. |
| 57. |
| 58. |
|
 | A Nights Search |  |
126
Sect. 29.
Of a proud, stately Harlot raised by her sin; how she rain'd divers, and of many passages in the prosecution of it.
The gallant whore, who goes in rich aray,
Turns day to night; the night she'll turn to day:
Although at first her breeding was but base,
Sprouts as a branch from some Informers race.
Being somewhat handsome in her blushing prime,
She thinks it best, to make use of her time.
Some braying Asse that can but use his tongue,
He'll complement: they being both but young,
Are soone bewitcht with one anothers faces;
Then for their ends they have their meeting places,
Turns day to night; the night she'll turn to day:
Although at first her breeding was but base,
Sprouts as a branch from some Informers race.
Being somewhat handsome in her blushing prime,
She thinks it best, to make use of her time.
Some braying Asse that can but use his tongue,
He'll complement: they being both but young,
Are soone bewitcht with one anothers faces;
Then for their ends they have their meeting places,
Till at the last this Asse had shed his coat,
His braying alters to a mourning note.
The Sergeants, Bailiffs, do encrease his feares,
Poore Asse at last doth prick, or shake his eares,
And thinks his heeles are better than his hands,
He whips away into the Netherlands.
His braying alters to a mourning note.
The Sergeants, Bailiffs, do encrease his feares,
Poore Asse at last doth prick, or shake his eares,
And thinks his heeles are better than his hands,
He whips away into the Netherlands.
This Queane adornes her like a modest Maid:
Alas! another is by her betray'd!
Now she being cunning, will not serve his lust;
His fire burnes, and marrie her he must:
A little while they do in pleasure swim;
At last he findes she made an Oxe of him.
Alas! another is by her betray'd!
Now she being cunning, will not serve his lust;
His fire burnes, and marrie her he must:
A little while they do in pleasure swim;
At last he findes she made an Oxe of him.
127
He then complain'd: Alas! what did I meane,
To marrie thus an over-ridden queane?
His way of trading he doth quite neglect,
His Creditors will give him no respect.
His stock's consum'd, his credit all is lost:
Poore simple man! he with this whore is crost!
She layes it on, and spends (while it remaines)
On such that promise to allow her gaines.
At last, when he had run so far in debt,
He'd buy some wit, but 'tis too late: he'll fret:
His wit and money parted are away,
Now he must run, he can no longer stay.
To marrie thus an over-ridden queane?
His way of trading he doth quite neglect,
His Creditors will give him no respect.
His stock's consum'd, his credit all is lost:
Poore simple man! he with this whore is crost!
She layes it on, and spends (while it remaines)
On such that promise to allow her gaines.
At last, when he had run so far in debt,
He'd buy some wit, but 'tis too late: he'll fret:
His wit and money parted are away,
Now he must run, he can no longer stay.
The time is come this whore did wish to have,
She'll have more freedome with a perjur'd knave:
She'll trim her selfe, and paint her face anew:
She's brave! her face looks of another hew.
Come now who will, this block is far remov'd:
You are the man that I have ever lov'd.
Then she will sweare that she'll be constant to him;
She works him in, but quickly she'll undo him.
He must maintaine her at a loftie rate;
She goes in pomp; at last her whorish state
Does bring him low; his house he keeps no longer,
He is convey'd to one that is far stronger.
Then he bewailes his lamentable crosse;
And does relate their passages; his losse
('Tis evident, poore man! he must abide it)
Breaks out the more, the more he strives to hide it.
Now when this whore does want a man of worth
To keepe her brave, she'll send her Pander forth.
(Pray call him Captaine) she must beare his charge;
Her streames are low, expences have been large.
Well, out he goes, being hinder'd by no weather;
His money's spent, but he will shake his feather:
He findes the Spark, he tels him of a Lasse,
That doth for beautie all the rest surpasse.
If he'd but go, he shall be welcome to her,
She's somewhat coy; but he will help to wooe her.
She'll have more freedome with a perjur'd knave:
She'll trim her selfe, and paint her face anew:
She's brave! her face looks of another hew.
Come now who will, this block is far remov'd:
You are the man that I have ever lov'd.
Then she will sweare that she'll be constant to him;
She works him in, but quickly she'll undo him.
He must maintaine her at a loftie rate;
She goes in pomp; at last her whorish state
Does bring him low; his house he keeps no longer,
He is convey'd to one that is far stronger.
Then he bewailes his lamentable crosse;
And does relate their passages; his losse
('Tis evident, poore man! he must abide it)
Breaks out the more, the more he strives to hide it.
Now when this whore does want a man of worth
To keepe her brave, she'll send her Pander forth.
(Pray call him Captaine) she must beare his charge;
Her streames are low, expences have been large.
Well, out he goes, being hinder'd by no weather;
His money's spent, but he will shake his feather:
128
That doth for beautie all the rest surpasse.
If he'd but go, he shall be welcome to her,
She's somewhat coy; but he will help to wooe her.
These joviall blades must make a merrie day,
To talk more on't: the reckoning call'd to pay,
Pimps purse is emptie; but's Tobacco-box
To all is free (they'd best beware of pox)
In open glasses they must drink the round,
Then suck the weed of eighteene pence a pound.
Now Whiskin brings this joviall gallant up,
A place appointed where they all must sup;
And for their sauce, they have this painted Iade
Brought in; he sees her, soone the match is made:
They vow then to be constant to each other:
She is his sister, he must be her brother:
And while he lives, he never will forsake her:
But for his wife, he'll bid, The Devill take her.
To talk more on't: the reckoning call'd to pay,
Pimps purse is emptie; but's Tobacco-box
To all is free (they'd best beware of pox)
In open glasses they must drink the round,
Then suck the weed of eighteene pence a pound.
Now Whiskin brings this joviall gallant up,
A place appointed where they all must sup;
And for their sauce, they have this painted Iade
Brought in; he sees her, soone the match is made:
They vow then to be constant to each other:
She is his sister, he must be her brother:
And while he lives, he never will forsake her:
But for his wife, he'll bid, The Devill take her.
Now for his whore, her back and belly cheere,
Do cost him full five hundred pounds a yeere:
Maintaines the Pimp that brought him to this thrall:
No other Bawd; she's Whore and Bawd and all.
Now farewell Freeze, h'has got to grace this harlot,
A Stammell sute; but you must call it Scarlet.
In habit like a Citizen she'll be;
Sometimes no Lady is more fine than she.
A house for winter, she must have to stand
About the Citie, with a brave command:
Her Summer-house neere to the flowing tide,
Rich furniture, gain'd by her whorish pride.
Now when this Spark is from his Fondling gone,
If none come to her, then she'll send for one;
Bring her but money, she will use her trade,
And truck with any, like a Hackney Iade.
When he returnes, she'l wipe her mouth, and say,
Why did my sweeting stay so long away?
He must imbrace her, kisse, and call her hony;
She'l quickly search to see what store of money
He'has brought her home; if little, then she'l frown,
She wants a sattin, or a tabby-gown.
Vp he must take it on the Mercers score,
And glad he is that he can please this whore:
And of the Gold-smith jewels, diamond-rings:
When this is done, still she wants other things.
His state consumes, his friends give councell to him
With griefe: and pleade, this whore will soon undo him.
All will not serve, but he will still adore her.
His wife now sees a queene preferr'd before her,
With heavy heart do's to her husband cry:
Do cost him full five hundred pounds a yeere:
Maintaines the Pimp that brought him to this thrall:
No other Bawd; she's Whore and Bawd and all.
Now farewell Freeze, h'has got to grace this harlot,
A Stammell sute; but you must call it Scarlet.
In habit like a Citizen she'll be;
Sometimes no Lady is more fine than she.
A house for winter, she must have to stand
About the Citie, with a brave command:
Her Summer-house neere to the flowing tide,
Rich furniture, gain'd by her whorish pride.
Now when this Spark is from his Fondling gone,
If none come to her, then she'll send for one;
Bring her but money, she will use her trade,
And truck with any, like a Hackney Iade.
129
Why did my sweeting stay so long away?
He must imbrace her, kisse, and call her hony;
She'l quickly search to see what store of money
He'has brought her home; if little, then she'l frown,
She wants a sattin, or a tabby-gown.
Vp he must take it on the Mercers score,
And glad he is that he can please this whore:
And of the Gold-smith jewels, diamond-rings:
When this is done, still she wants other things.
His state consumes, his friends give councell to him
With griefe: and pleade, this whore will soon undo him.
All will not serve, but he will still adore her.
His wife now sees a queene preferr'd before her,
With heavy heart do's to her husband cry:
Forsake this whore, or I with grief shall dye!
With teares she praies, as she before him stands,
You have an heire, then morgage not your lands.
Alas! you know, 'twill be a living shame,
When he is an heire only but in name!
These infants, they must beg, or els do worse,
You on your children strive to bring a curse:
Shall it be said, this was his fathers place?
He kept a whore, and sold it with disgrace?
Your of-spring too shal ever beare this staine,
You rais'd them up, and threw them down again.
With teares she praies, as she before him stands,
You have an heire, then morgage not your lands.
Alas! you know, 'twill be a living shame,
When he is an heire only but in name!
These infants, they must beg, or els do worse,
You on your children strive to bring a curse:
Shall it be said, this was his fathers place?
He kept a whore, and sold it with disgrace?
Your of-spring too shal ever beare this staine,
You rais'd them up, and threw them down again.
Think on that vow you did in marriage make,
With that injunction; which was, then to take
None but my selfe; you know I am your wife:
This Harlot now has gain'd your love; sow'd strife
Betwixt us two: what is love gone for ever?
Which once I thought, that none but death could sever?
My selfe, my love was constant still and true;
My friends I did forsake for love of you;
Oh! be perswaded, pitty now my smart;
And toward your children, beare a fathers heart!
With that injunction; which was, then to take
None but my selfe; you know I am your wife:
This Harlot now has gain'd your love; sow'd strife
Betwixt us two: what is love gone for ever?
Which once I thought, that none but death could sever?
My selfe, my love was constant still and true;
My friends I did forsake for love of you;
130
And toward your children, beare a fathers heart!
If to my suit you will not bend your eares,
Let griefe dissolve me to a flood of teares!
When thirsty time hath drank up all my store,
Then take me death: for I can weep no more,
And let me now a second favour find,
My children take, which I shall leave behind.
And for my husband, let all honest men
Lay out some teares; he'l one day pay 'em agen.
Vntill that time, I wish, that babling Fame,
Be silenc't that he never spread his name.
This one thing more (my passion is so strong:)
And then for ever I will hold my tongue:
Some Poet he will write upon your grave,
He kept a whore who us'd him as a slave,
To maintaine her, he did both sell and borrow?
His children beg, his wife she dy'd with sorrow.
Let time and age with men record his fall:
Be warn'd by him; his whore and he spent all.
Let griefe dissolve me to a flood of teares!
When thirsty time hath drank up all my store,
Then take me death: for I can weep no more,
And let me now a second favour find,
My children take, which I shall leave behind.
And for my husband, let all honest men
Lay out some teares; he'l one day pay 'em agen.
Vntill that time, I wish, that babling Fame,
Be silenc't that he never spread his name.
This one thing more (my passion is so strong:)
And then for ever I will hold my tongue:
Some Poet he will write upon your grave,
He kept a whore who us'd him as a slave,
To maintaine her, he did both sell and borrow?
His children beg, his wife she dy'd with sorrow.
Let time and age with men record his fall:
Be warn'd by him; his whore and he spent all.
This plaint moves not; nor infants moanes about her,
He's vext at her, and sometimes he doth flout her;
Then he relates this story to his drab,
Who answer'd thus; what, hath she eat a Crab?
What, doth she prate? a stinking durty slut!
Is she too full? I vow I'le pinch her gut,
And make her glad to eat a piece of bread;
What will she dye, except she may be head?
I'le keep her bare and make her speak me faire;
You must be tutor'd too about your heire.
Tush, let him work, and set him to a trade;
Pack out the rest: and let this ugly Iade
Vex in her grease; what, doth she send about
Her privy spies to find our meeting out?
Do, be a foole! and let her railing passe,
And shew thy selfe a tender-harted asse!
What didst thou say when she did call me whore?
Pray Love, be quiet. I'll do so no more?
She raile at me! Oh! would I could but meet her
In place convenient: see how I could greet her.
Pray if you love me, make her rule her tongue;
She's old, and wrinkled, I am fresh and yong.
A snotty Iade! I mar'le, how thou couldst love her!
She's vext that I have got respect above her.
Let any one that hath but skill to try,
Iudge which is handsom'st, whether she or I:
Let none compare me to this homely Ioane!
She freets because she's saine to lye alone.
Who'ld lye by such a whither'd piece of flesh,
When he may have well favor'd, sweet and fresh?
Go to thy dow'd, if thou hast but a mind:
And quit forget that I to thee was kind.
He's vext at her, and sometimes he doth flout her;
Then he relates this story to his drab,
Who answer'd thus; what, hath she eat a Crab?
What, doth she prate? a stinking durty slut!
Is she too full? I vow I'le pinch her gut,
And make her glad to eat a piece of bread;
What will she dye, except she may be head?
I'le keep her bare and make her speak me faire;
You must be tutor'd too about your heire.
Tush, let him work, and set him to a trade;
Pack out the rest: and let this ugly Iade
Vex in her grease; what, doth she send about
Her privy spies to find our meeting out?
131
And shew thy selfe a tender-harted asse!
What didst thou say when she did call me whore?
Pray Love, be quiet. I'll do so no more?
She raile at me! Oh! would I could but meet her
In place convenient: see how I could greet her.
Pray if you love me, make her rule her tongue;
She's old, and wrinkled, I am fresh and yong.
A snotty Iade! I mar'le, how thou couldst love her!
She's vext that I have got respect above her.
Let any one that hath but skill to try,
Iudge which is handsom'st, whether she or I:
Let none compare me to this homely Ioane!
She freets because she's saine to lye alone.
Who'ld lye by such a whither'd piece of flesh,
When he may have well favor'd, sweet and fresh?
Go to thy dow'd, if thou hast but a mind:
And quit forget that I to thee was kind.
Sweet, dost thou think that I will be so mad,
That ere her words or teares shall make me sad?
No, do not think I have so little wit:
Let, let her swell in this her frenzy fit.
Shall I be ty'de? I'le tame this peevish fool.
And for her tongue, let winter make it cool;
Let night-hags fright her in her bedlam dreames,
Whilst thou and I delight in pleasant theames!
I'le take my pleasure. Why should I do lesse?
I'le be no slave to what I do possesse.
Come, thou art mine; and thou shalt find me faire
My love to thee is more than to my heire;
Ile spend my state; a brood of brats I have
Who for my meanes do wish me in my grave;
Thus farre I am resolv'd, for love of thee:
When I am gone, the world is gone with me.
Thou hast my heart, thou know'st I cannot leave thee:
I am too honest ever to deceive thee.
Hang't, let her chat untill her tongue be weary:
Care kils a cat, but we will still be merry:
But yet I'le use a trick to make her quiet,
She shall go barer, and have meaner diet.
And if she dye, a grave I'le quickly make her,
I love her so; make speed, come, heavens take her.
That ere her words or teares shall make me sad?
No, do not think I have so little wit:
Let, let her swell in this her frenzy fit.
Shall I be ty'de? I'le tame this peevish fool.
And for her tongue, let winter make it cool;
Let night-hags fright her in her bedlam dreames,
Whilst thou and I delight in pleasant theames!
I'le take my pleasure. Why should I do lesse?
I'le be no slave to what I do possesse.
Come, thou art mine; and thou shalt find me faire
My love to thee is more than to my heire;
Ile spend my state; a brood of brats I have
Who for my meanes do wish me in my grave;
Thus farre I am resolv'd, for love of thee:
When I am gone, the world is gone with me.
132
I am too honest ever to deceive thee.
Hang't, let her chat untill her tongue be weary:
Care kils a cat, but we will still be merry:
But yet I'le use a trick to make her quiet,
She shall go barer, and have meaner diet.
And if she dye, a grave I'le quickly make her,
I love her so; make speed, come, heavens take her.
| A Nights Search | |