Gold, flattery, and treach’ry, they employ,
The object which delights them to destroy;
Then cast aside, neglected or forgot,
We’re doom’d to pine, to languish, and to rot:
Or if, when such delusive arts are o’er,
We go to others—each is then a WHORE!
Ye Rogues of Fortune, and ye Rogues of Pow’r,
Who ruin females in the guardless hour;
Who may be Sons of WHORES, for what you know,
Attend to what my artless pen can shew.