LONDON:
Printed by F.P. near Fleet-street, 1707.
THE
Fifteen Plagues of a
Maiden-Head, &c.
| The First Plague. |
| The Woman Marry'd is Divinely Blest, But I a Virgin cannot take my Rest; I'm discontented up, as bad a Bed, Because I'm plagued with my Maiden-head; A thing that do's my blooming Years no good, But only serves to freeze my youthful Blood, Which slowly Circulates, do what I can, For want of Bleeding by some skilful Man; Whose tender hand his Launcet so will guide, That I the Name of Maid may lay aside. |
| The Second Plague. |
| When I've beheld an am'rous Youth make Love, And swearing Truth by all the Gods above, How has it strait inflam'd my sprightly Blood Creating Flames, I scarcely should withstood, But bid him boldly march, not grant me leisure Of Parley, for 'tis Speed augments the Pleasure. Sirrah! tis my Misfortune not to meet With any Man that would my Passion greet, If he with balmy Kisses stop'd my Breath, From which one cannot die a better Death, Or stroke my Breasts, those Mountains of Delight, Your very Touch would fire an Anchorite; Next let your wanton Palm a little stray, And dip thy Fingers in the milky way: Then having raiz'd me, let me gently fall, Love's Trumpets sound, so Mortal have at all. But why wish I this Bliss? I wish in vain, And of my plaguy Burthen do complain; For sooner may I see whole Nations dead, But I find one to get my Maiden-head. |
| The Third Plague. |
| She that her Maiden-head does keep, runs through More Plagues than all the Land of Egypt knew; A teazing Whore, or a more tedious Wife, Plagues not a Marry'd Man's unhappy Life, As much as it do's me to be a Maid, Of which same Name I am so much afraid, Because I've often heard some People tell, They that die Maids, must all lead Apes in Hell; And so 'twere better I had never been, Than thus to be perplex'd: God save the Queen. |
| The Fourth Plague. |
| When trembling Pris'ners all stand round the Bar, A strange suspence about the fatal Verdict, And when the Jury crys they Guilty are, How they astonish'd are when they have heard it. When in mighty Storm a Ship is toss'd, And all do ask, What do's the Captain say? How they (poor Souls) bemoan themselves as lost, When his Advice at last is only, Pray! So as it was one Day my pleasing Chance, To meet a handsome young Man in a Grove, Both time and place conspir'd to advance The innocent Designs of charming Love. I thought my Happiness was then compleat, Because 'twas in his Pow'r to make it so; I ask'd the Spark if he would do the Feat, But the unperforming Blockhead answer'd, No. Poor Prisoners may, I see, have Mercy shewn, And Shipwreck'd Men may sometimes have the Luck, To see their dismal Tempests overblown, But I poor Virgin never shall be F----. |
| The Fifth Plague. |
| All Day poor I do sit Disconsolate, Cursing the grievous Rigor of my Fate, To think how I have seven Years betray'd, To that dull empty Title of a Maid. If that I could my self but Woman write, With what transcendent Pleasure and Delight, Should I for ever, thrice for ever Bless, The Man that led me to such Happiness. |
| The Sixth Plague. |
| Pox take the thing Folks call a Maiden-head, For soon as e'er I'm sleeping in my Bed, I dream I'm mingling with some Man my Thigh, Till something more than ord'nary does rise; But when I wake and find my Dream's in vain, I turn to Sleep only to Dream again, For Dreams as yet are only kind to me, And at the present quench my Lechery. |
| The Seventh Plague. |
| Of late I wonder what's with me the Matter, For I look like Death, and am as weak as Water, For several Days I loath the sight of Meat, And every Night I chew the upper Sheet; [*?]e such Obstructions, that I'm almost moap'd, And breath as if my Vitals all were stop'd. I told a Friend how strange with me it was, She, an experienc'd Bawd, soon grop'd the Cause, Saying, for this Disease, take what you can, You'll ne'er be well, till you have taken Man. Therefore, before with Maiden-heads I'll be Thus plagu'd, and live in daily Misery, Some Spark shall rummage all my Wem about, To find this wonderful Distemper out. |
| The Eighth Plague. |
| Now I am young, blind Cupid me bewitches, I scratch my Belly, for it always itches, And what it itches for, I've told before, 'Tis either to be Wife, or be a Whore; Nay any thing indeed, would be poor I, N'er Maiden-heads upon my Hands should lie, Which till I lose, I'm sure my watry Eyes Will pay to Love so great a Sacrifice, That my Carcass soon will weep out all its Juice, Till grown so dry, as fit for no Man's use. |
| The Ninth Plague. |
| By all the pleasant Postures of Delight, By all the Twines and Circles of the Night, By the first Minute of those Nuptial Joys, When Men put fairly for a Brace of Boys, Dying a Virgin once I more do dread, Than ten times losing of a Maiden head; For tho' it can't be seen nor understood, Yet is it troublesome to Flesh and Blood. |
| The Tenth Plague. |
| You heedless Maids, whose young and tender Hearts Unwounded yet, have scop'd the fatal Darts; Let the sad Fate of a poor Virgin move, And learn by me to pay Respect to Love. If one can find a Man fit for Love's Game, To lose one's Maiden-head it is no Shame: 'Tis no Offence, if from his tender Lip I snatch a tonguing Kiss; if my fond Clip With loose Embraces oft his Neck surround, For Love in Debts of Nature's ever bound. |
| The Eleventh Plague. |
| A Maiden head! Pish, in it's no Delight, Nor have I Ease, but when returning Night, With Sleep's soft gentle Spell my Senses charms, Then Fancy some Gallant brings to my Arms: In them I oft the lov'd Shadow seem To grasp, and Joys, yet blush I too in Dream. I wake, and long my Heart in Wonder lies, To think on my late pleasing Extasies: But when I'm waking, and don't yet possess, In Sleep again I wish to enjoy the Bliss: For Sleep do's no malicious Spies admit, Yet yields a lively Semblance of Delight. Gods! what a Scene of Joy was that! how fast I clasp'd the Vision to my panting Breast? With what fierce Bounds I sprung to meet the Bliss, While my wrapt Soul flew out in ev'ry Kiss! Till breathless, faint, and softly sunk away, I all dissolv'd in reaking Pleasures lay. |
| The Twelfth Plague. |
| Happen what will, I'll make some Lovers know What Pains, what raging Pains I undergo, Till I am really Heart-sick, almost Dead, By keeping that damn'd thing a Maiden-head. Which makes me with Green Sickness almost lost, So pale, so wan, and looking like a Ghost, Eating Chalk, Cindars, or Tobacco-Pipes, Which with a Looseness scowers all my Tripes; But e'er I'll longer this great Pain endure, The Stews I'll search, but that I'll find a Cure. |
| The Thirteenth Plague. |
| Let doating Age debate of Law and Right, And gravely state the Bounds of Just and Fit; Whose Wisdom's but their Envy, to destroy And bar those Pleasures which they can't enjoy. My blooming Years, more sprightly and more gay, By Nature were design'd for Love and Play: Youth knows no Check, but leaps weak Virtue's Fence, And briskly hunts the noble Chace of Sense! Without dull thinking I'll Enjoyment trace, And call that lawful whatsoe'er do's please. Nor will my Crime want Instances alone, 'Tis what the Glorious Gods above have done; For Saturn, and his greater Off-spring Jove, Both stock'd their Heaven with Incestuous Love. |
| The Fourteenth Plague. |
| If any Man do's with my Bubbies play, Squeeze my small Hand, as soft as Wax or Clay, Or lays his Hands upon my tender Knees, What strange tumultuous Joys upon me seize! My Breasts do heave, and languish do my Eyes, Panting's my Heart, and trembling are my Thighs; I sigh, I wish, I pray, and seem to die, In one continu'd Fit of Ecstacy; Thus by my Looks may Man know what I mean, And how he easily may get between Those Quarters, where he may surprize a Fort, In which an Emperor may find such Sport, That with a mighty Gust of Love's Alarms, He'd lie dissolving in my circling Arms; But 'tis my Fate to have to do with Fools, Who're very loth and shy to use their Tools, To ease a poor, and fond distressed Maid, Of that same Load, of which I'm not afrad To lose with any Man, tho' I should die, For any Tooth (good Barber) is my Cry. |
| The Fifteenth Plague. |
| Alas! I care not, Sir, what Force you'd use, So I my Maiden-head could quickly lose: Oft do I wish one skill'd in Cupid's Arts, Would quickly dive into my secret Parts; For as I am, at Home all sorts of Weather, I kit,----as Heaven and Earth would come together, Twirling a Wheel, I sit at home, hum drum, And spit away my Nature on my Thumb; Whilst those that Marry'd are, invited be To Labours, Christnings, where the Jollitry Of Women lies in telling, as some say, When 'twas they did at Hoity-Toity play; Whose Husband's Yard is longest, whilst another Can't in the least her great Misfortune smother, So tells, her Husband's Bauble is so short, That when he Hunts, he never shews her Sport. Now I, because I have my Maiden-head, Mayn't know the Pastimes of the Nuptial Bed; But mayn't I quickly do as Marry'd People may, I'll either kill my self, or shortly run away. |