This has some Jilt for a long time sustain'd, Who has Imperious o'er his Pocket reign'd; At length grown weary of so loose a Life, Or for some other Cause, he takes a wife: The Jilt now like a Fury flings and tears, Ten thousand Oaths to be reveng'd she swears: Threatens to come before his very Door, For Whores are plagues that never give you o'er: _There in the open Street to act the Scene, And let the World know what a Spark he's been: This; may be some fair promises prevents, If constantly attended with the pence; For Whores and Fidlers this one Rule advance, Of old; no longer Pipe, no longer Dance. But if the Promis'd Pension he withdraws, The Fury then again Exerts her Claws: Thus he a charge, continual intails, Besides the Curse, the Noise, and all things else;_ The Tenth Pleasure of a Town Life, _Another Harlot works by various means, And acts a Jilt's true part behind the Scenes, [*?]nds the kind Bubble of a pliant Size, And Spreads a subtle Net to catch her Prize, With greater ease to drive him in the same, She first obtains his Residence, and Name, Two useful Perquisites for her design; The Shallow Easie Fop to undermine; A Mesiage next she sends to let him know, Convey'd by some such useful Rogue as R----w; That she's with Child--and by the Love she bore, It must be him--for she was never so before. Which he with wonderful Surprize receives, And for the present some few Guineas gives, Thus he's impos'd on by a wretched Cheat, And er'e he finds it out; pays dearly for his Wit._ The Eleventh Pleasure of a Town Life. _Nor this alone Debauch'ry comprehends, The forward Age to other vice descends, And Youth e're he'as attain'd good Sence to think, Addicts himself with Pride, to swear and drink: [*?]'s Rules Immoral from Example take, And e're he's turn'd of fifteen, turns a Rake: [*?]ots in Sin--(nothing that's Lewd shall scape And on his Virgin Health commits a Rape, Forsaking Reason--grows to Vice a Slave, And e'r he's Thirty drops into his Grave._ The Twelfth Plague of a Town Life, _Another has a better Progress made, And binds himself Apprentice to the Trade; A parboyl'd Sot, without one Spark of Grace, Whose nightly Sins are number'd on his Face: Which with the Rags upon his back make out, The very Arms and Ensigns of a Sot: Who like a Rat into Some Corner goes, And dies Unpittied both by Friends and Foes._ The Thirteenth Pleasure of a Town Life.