The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony: Responses From Women

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,