Alas! poor Youth, if you go mad for Love,
Seek your Relief from mighty Jove above.
No Cure I have, my Body’s chaste and pure;
A wandering Youth I never can endure.
Pancras-Wells.
I have had a Cl-p,
By a sad Mishap;
But the Doctor has cur’d it,
And I’ve endur’d it.
The B-ch that gave it me,