Tho' Buboes, Nodes and Ulcers are the Marks, Of many a wanton Beau and am'rous Sparks And many a lustful Lecher oft complains Of restless Days and damn'd nocturnal Pains, Nays go into a Flux o dozen Weeks, Is't not the Man himself these Sorrow seeks? Besides, how often see you go astride A Miss, as if she was with Packthread ty'd; Who's Poxt and Clapt as much as you can be, And undergoes a deal of Misery, To give your wanton Appetites content, [*?] feeding you with Flesh, altho' in Lent: Therefore as the old Woman very Tart Once said, when against Thunder she did Fart, 'Twas only tit for tat, so if the Men Do clap the Whores, and Whores Claps them agen, Tis only tit for tat; tis very true, What's good for Goose is good for Gander too. _The fifth Comfort of Whoring answer'd._ What if a Man is in a marry'd State? Confin'd to one does am'rous Heat abate, Or shew me him (altho' he were in need.) That always wou'd upon one Diet feed When once a Woman's by a Man enjoy'd For good and all, his Appetite is cloy'd. Therefore he fixes on some wanton Miss Whom rather than his Wife behalf he'd Kiss, For as it's oft reported now a days, A Thing that's fresh, fresh Courage, too will raise _The Sixth Comfort of Whoring, Answer'd_ What Man wou'd shun the Plagues of Pox and Pills, Or all the ails that are in Doctors Bills, Rather than not be circled in the Arms Of one that tempts you with a thousand Charms, And tho' she long has lost her Maidenhead, Yet such Dexterity she'll shew in Bed, That, Sir, your Mouth wou'd water o're and o're, To feed again upon a skilful Whore. _The seventh Comfort of Whoring Answer'd._ 'Tis true, the Fop that thinketh to secure'd To himself, in private Lodgins some fine Whore He is a Fool, for she'll not be confin'd, To any Man altho' he's are so kind; For being then high Pampered and Fed, In absence of her Cull she takes to Bed Another, that with Gold allures her too, That she may not to her Gallant be true; For thinks she, when her Chap is tir'd quite, And turns her off in others to delight, From all she can she'll privately receive, Which may her great Necessities relieve, When that she bids adieu her Master's Bed, To get by publick jilting Tricks her Bread. _The eighth Comfort of Whoring, Answer'd._