University of Virginia Library

A SATYR AGAINST WHORING.

Slaves to Debauchery and Lustful Rage,
That drain the Streets, and prostitute the Stage,
Begot in heat of Lust on Hackney Whores,
Souls wrapt in Excrements of common Shoars.
Standing for patterns, 'fore the Limners Eye,
To draw the Lustful God Priæpus by.
Pox take ye all! This Curse I doubt's too late,
It long has been, 'tis like, your Whoring Fate;
Then all the Courses ever Sodom knew,
Or pocky Jilts, light on your Race and You;
Inflam'd by Lust, may you with Passion move,
And have the Pox return'd instead of Love;
May you with stinking Breaths pass unador'd,
And Breath a fulsome Clap at every Word;
May Dreams disturb by Night, & Whores by Day,
And ravenous Shankers eat your flesh away;
May Sores without, and fervent Heat within,
Consume and waste away your loathsome Skin;
May you be so Debaucht, so vilely Lewd,
'Till grown so great, Lust cannot be renew'd;
'Till one sad Ach expels another Pain,
And Claps in circles meet with Claps again;
'Till Stone, and Gout, and Stranguries contend,
Which to Old-Nick your lustful Soul shall send;
Haulting may you in Lifes dull Journey go,
Condemn'd to Stews above, and Hell below;
May bawling Bawds about your Dwellings roame,
And all your Spurious Issue haunt your home;
Having spent all your Wealth in Leachery,
May you unpittied on a Dunghil die;
May all these Curses, and Ten thousand more
Than all the angry Gods have in their store,
Light on you; then may Darted Vengeance come,
With hoarded Bolts of Wrath to raise your Tomb.
Gods! why o'er Nature did you take such Care,
In making Women exquisitely Fair?
Why build you dazling Altars like the Skies,
And do provide no better Votaries
Than Men? Lascivious Men! whose lustful frown
Spoils all that's fair, and pulls what's Sacred down;
Will all enjoy, and Married be to none,
Though Nature dictates only to use one.
In broken Language Beasts by pairs do prate;
The cooing Dove bills but his single Mate;
But Man, unbounded Man! Attempts all ill,
His Lust is grown as Boundless as his Will;
That Name call'd Husband is of Terror full,
The State Uneasie, Melancholy, Dull;
The Kennel, Kitchin, Oyster, rampant Whore,
Before a Wife, 's the Creature they Adore.
What Sot would wander, that has by his side
The Powerful Charms of a Smiling Bride?
Cool as the coldest Night, and Chaster far
Than Anchorets, or Vestal Virgins are;
Whose equal Love, do's equal Heat Inspire,
Prompted by Kindness, not a base Desire;
In whose Embraces gladly pass away
Whole tedious years in but one Halcyon day.
Fate Favours him, that makes him spend his Life,
Doom'd to those Golden Chains, to please a Wife.