The Practis’d, not Innocent, dally with Bliss,
Then prithee be kind, and taste what it is.
She. Let me die now, you’re grown a strange sort of a Man,
To force a young Maid, let her do what she can;
I fear now I blush to think what we’re doing,
And is this the end of all you Men’s wooing?
He. At this Pleasure all aim, both Godly and Sinners,
And none of ’em blush for’t but poor young Beginners.
In Pleasure both Sexes, all Ages agree,
And those that take most, most happy will be.