s share on,
A soft clear Skin, a dapper Neck and Waist,
In all Things suited to the modern Taste;
And most polite, like all our modish Brood,
That is, a very Fool, who's very leud:
He ogles Miss, she squints, and turns aside,
Nor can her Mask her rising Blushes hide;
At last (as Bargains here are quickly made)
She yeilds to be Caress'd, tho' still afraid;
She cries, a private Room's for them most fit,
For Reputation is the Glory of a Cit;
This only is the Place, where in a Trice,
Some Angel steals the Wounds of friendly Vice;
The Nymph finds a Relief for all her Pains,
And the lost Maidenhead's restor'd again.

But who is he in Bower close confin'd,
With a kind Fair t' unbend his troubled Mind,
Sure by his Air, his Beauty, and his Grace,
It _Phoebus_ is, or some of heavenly Race.

A petty Courtier, of small Estate and Sense,
Stood hearkning by, and cry'd it was the P----ce.

Your Pardon, Sir, I knew it not before,
For my Mistake depended on his Whore,
One had _Latona_ to'ther has _L----r_.

Next to the _Grotto_ let us bend our Eye,
The _Grotto_, Patron of Iniquity,
Speak O ye Trees with kind refreshing Shade,
How many Whores have at your Roots been made;
Alas; how small the Number to what now,
This one, this happy Night, alone will shew
So many, that each conscious _Dryad_ flees,
Lest she too should be ravish'd thro' the Trees.

Next rattling Dice invite th' attentive Ear,
Lords loudly laugh, as loud the Bullies swear:
The Country Knight o'th' Shire sells his Estate,
And here with Heart intrepid meets his Fate;
So they withdrew to quench their glowing Flame,
And to preserve the Honour of her Name;
For oh! sad Fate as they ascend the Stairs,
At the Room Door her good _Mamma_ appears,
Soon as she spies her Child with Looks demure,
She charges her to keep her _Vessel pure_:
Miss pertly answers to avoid her Doom,
_Mamma_, whose Hat and Wig is in the Room?
The good old Dame yeilds at the just Reproach,
Cries--_Well my Dear, don't take too much!_

Thus various Joys soon waste the fleeting Night,
And Sleep and Lust the Croud to Bed invite;
Some in their Truckle-Beds to snore all Day,
Others in Gambols with their Wh----es to play;
The Dunghill Trapes, trickt up like virtuous Trull,
If by good Chance, she gets a _Dupe_ or Cull;
On Tallyman intrudes twelve Hours more,
And for a clean Shift presumes to ru