Again as we to _Bridewel_ oft are sent,
To undergo a flauging Punishment,
A bribe to him that Whips us then is gi'n,
To have Compassion to our tender Skin.


_The Fourteenth Comfort of Whoring Answer'd._

With pretty winning ways we do assure,
Our selves to bring the Woodcocks to our Lure
As ogling wishfully, and having Tongue,
Which tho' 'tis false, yet with good Language hung
And if we have a Voice that's good, we sing
And _Syren_ like our Fops to ruin bring;
Then how we Strumpets do rejoyce to see,
The wiser Sex undone by Lechery.


_The Fifteenth Comfort of Whoring Answer'd._

But now good lack-a-day our Trade's so bad,
That truly Customers can scarce be had,
Through those sly Whore's that do in privat dwell,
So (but a story sad it is to tell)
Our common Whores can scarce their Livings get
By all the means of an intrieguing Wit.
For _Drury Lane_, in _Fleetstreet_ or the _Strand_,
Hours we walk e're any by the Hand,
Will take us, wherefore as we daggle home,
Some prick-louse _Taylor_ strutting up will come,