University of Virginia Library

SCENE IX.

LOVEGIRLO, KISSINDA.
LOVEGIRLO.
Oh! my Kissinda! oh! how sweet art thou?
Nor Covent-Garden, nor Stocks-Market knows
A Flower like thee; less sweet the Sunday Rose,
With which, in Country Church, the Milk-maid decks
Her ruddy Breast: Ne'er wash'd the courtly Dame
Her Neck with Honey-water half so sweet.
Oh! thou art Perfume all; a Perfume Shop.

KISSINDA.
Cease, my Lovegirlo, oh! thou hast a Tongue
Might charm a Bailiff to forego his Hold.
Oh! I cou'd hear thee ever, cou'd with Joy
Live a whole Day upon a Dish of Tea,
And listen to the Bagpipes in thy Voice.

LOVEGIRLO.
Hear this, ye Harlots, hear her and reform;
Not so the Miser loves to see his Gold,
Not so the Poet loves to see his Play,
Not so the Critick loves to see a Fault,
Not so the Beauty loves to see herself,
As I delight to see Kissinda smile.

KISSINDA.
Oh! my Lovegirlo, I must hear no more,
Thy Words are strongest Poison to my Soul;
I shall forget my Trade and learn to dote.

LOVEGIRLO.
Oh! give a Loose to all the Warmth of Love.
Love like a Bride upon the Second Night;
I like a ravish'd Bridegroom on the First.

KISSINDA.
Thou know'st too well a Lady of the Town
If she give way to Love must be undone.

LOVEGIRLO.
The Town! thou shalt be on the Town no more,
I'll take thee into Keeping, take thee Rooms
So large, so furnish'd, in so fine a Street,
The Mistress of a Jew shall envy thee,
By Jove, I'll force the sooty Tribe to own,
A Christian keeps a Whore as well as they.

KISSINDA.
And wilt thou take me into Keeping—?

LOVEGIRLO.
Yes.

KISSINDA.
Then I am blest indeed—and I will be
The kindest, gentlest, and the cheapest Girl.
A Joint of Meat a Day is all I ask,
And that I'll dress my self—A Pot of Beer
When thou din'st from me, shall be all my Wine;
Few Clothes I'll have, and those too Second-hand;
Then when a Hole within thy Stocking's seen,
(For Stockings will have Holes) I'll darn it for thee,
With my own Hands I'll wash thy soapen'd Shirt,
And make the Bed I have unmade with thee.

LOVEGIRLO.
Do virtuous Women use their Husbands so?
Who but a Fool wou'd marry that can keep—
What is this Virtue that Mankind adore?
Sounds less the scolding of a virtuous Tongue!
Or who remembers, to increase his Joy,
In the last Moments of excessive Bliss,
The Ring, the License, Parson, or his Clerk?
Besides, whene'er my Mistress plays me foul,
I cast her, like a dirty Shirt, away.
But oh! a Wife sticks like a Plaister fast,
Like a perpetual Blister to the Pole.

KISSINDA.
And wilt thou never throw me off—?

LOVEGIRLO.
Never,
'Til thou art soil'd.

KISSINDA.
Then turn me to the Streets,
Those Streets you took me from.

LOVEGIRLO.
Forbid it all
Ye Powers propitious to unlawful Love.
Oh! my Kissinda, by this Kiss I swear,
(This Kiss, which at a Shilling is not dear)
I wou'd not quit the Joys this Night shall give,
For all the virtuous Wives or Maids alive.
Oh! I am all on Fire, thou lovely Wench,
Torrents of Joy my burning Soul must quench,
Reiterated Joys!
Thus burning from the Fire, the Washer lifts
The red-hot Iron to make smooth her Shifts,
With Arm impetuous rubs her Shift amain,
And rubs, and rubs, and rubs it oe'r again;
Nor sooner does her rubbing Arm withhold,
'Till she grows warm, and the hot Iron cold.