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.

_FINIS._

* * * * *

_The_ Maids _Vindication:_

OR, THE

Fifteen Comforts of living a Single Life.

Being an _ANSWER_ to the _Fifteen
Plagues of a Maiden-head_.

_Written by a Gentlewoman._

[Illustration]

_London_, Printed for _J. Rogers_ in _Fleet-Street_, 1707.