Love, a hundred things,
Till both himself and her, he to destruction brings.
At length he finds his falsity repaid,
And draws the Curse of Heaven on his Head.

_The Second Comfort of Whoring._

By this some Lewder Harlot is Carrest,
Who plays the Tyrant in his Am'rous Breast;
The Charming Syren touches e'ery String,
To keep his busie Fancy on the Wing;
All by her whiles, she binds her Captive fast,
Sooths him at first, and bubbles him at last.
To feed her Pride, clandestine means he'll take,
Rob Friends, or Master; for the Harlot's sake,
Still to the greatest Ill's he do's descend,
And Ruin only; Ruin Seals his End.

_The Third Pleasure of a Town Life._

What Nature has not done, a Harlot will,
(For sure Destruction is her boasted Skill:
One Scarce to the full Bloom of Life attain'd,
Before of Cramps and Aches he complains,
Curses the Jilt--looks pale and wan withal:
Wither'd like Fruit by their untimely fall,
Go's thro' a hated Course of nauseous Pills,
And spends a little thousand Pocky Bills:
Perhaps at length he do's get free from pain,
But the Effects on't all his Life remain.

_The Fourth Pleasure of a Town Life._

Another hardly does escape so well,
From Purgatory he drops into Hell;
Where like a branded Sacrifice he comes,
And in the Flame the Harlot lit, consumes:
Of Buboes, Nodes, and Ulcers he complains,
Of Restless Days, and damn'd nocturnal Pains.
Nor less than into six Weeks Flux he goes:
Comes out a Shadow, pale and Meagre shews,
If Heaven spare that Ornament his Nose:
Thus all his Youthful Vigor's threwn away,
And e're his time he dwindles to decay.

_The Fifth Comfort of a Town Life._

This married, settled in the Joys of Life,
A handsom Trade, and an endearing Wife;
Does yet a mind incontinent betray,
And for a Night of Pleasure dearly pay:
Having received a Favour from his Miss,
He kindly gives it to a Friend of his:
The Wife, (for that the Marriage Rites say still)
Must bear a part both of the Good or Ill.
She finds what pity 'tis she e'er had known,
Since fo