The Penurious Quaker: Or, the High priz'd Harlot.
Quaker.
MY Friend thy Beauty seemeth good,
We Righteous have our failings;
I'm Flesh and Blood, methinks I cou'd,
Wert thou but free from Ailings.
Harlot. Believe me Sir I'm newly broach'd,
And never have been in yet;
I vow and swear I ne'er was touch'd,