_The Sixth Comfort of Whoring, Answer'd_

What Man wou'd shun the Plagues of Pox and Pills,
Or all the ails that are in Doctors Bills,
Rather than not be circled in the Arms
Of one that tempts you with a thousand Charms,
And tho' she long has lost her Maidenhead,
Yet such Dexterity she'll shew in Bed,
That, Sir, your Mouth wou'd water o're and o're,
To feed again upon a skilful Whore.


_The seventh Comfort of Whoring Answer'd._

'Tis true, the Fop that thinketh to secure'd
To himself, in private Lodgins some fine Whore
He is a Fool, for she'll not be confin'd,
To any Man altho' he's are so kind;
For being then high Pampered and Fed,
In absence of her Cull she takes to Bed
Another, that with Gold allures her too,
That she may not to her Gallant be true;
For thinks she, when her Chap is tir'd quite,
And turns her off in others to delight,
From all she can she'll privately receive,
Which may her great Necessities relieve,
When that she bids adieu her Master's Bed,
To get by publick jilting Tricks her Bread.