I could not get one bit of bread,125
Whereby my hunger might be fed:
Nor drink, but such as channels yield,
Or stinking ditches in the field.
Thus, weary of my life, at length
I yielded up my vital strength,130
Within a ditch of loathsome scent,
Where carrion dogs do much frequent:
The which now since my dying day,
[Is Shoreditch call'd, as writers say;]
Which is a witness of my sin,135
For being concubine to a king.
You wanton wives, that fall to lust,
Be you assur'd that God is just;
Whoredom shall not escape his hand,
Nor pride unpunish'd in this land.140
If God to me such shame did bring,
That yielded only to a king,
How shall they scape that daily run
To practise sin with every man?
You husbands, match not but for love,145
Lest some disliking after prove;
Women, be warn'd when you are wives,
What plagues are due to sinful lives:
Then, maids and wives, in time amend,
For love and beauty will have end.
[56]. upon.
[81]. rude.
[114]. restore.