She that her Maiden-head does keep, runs through More Plagues than all the Land of _Egypt_ knew; A teazing Whore, or a more tedious Wife, Plagues not a Marry'd Man's unhappy Life, As much as it do's me to be a Maid, Of which same Name I am so much afraid, Because I've often heard some People tell, They that die Maids, must all lead Apes in Hell; And so 'twere better I had never been, Than thus to be perplex'd: _God save the Queen._ _The Fourth Plague._ When trembling Pris'ners all stand round the Bar, A strange suspence about the fatal Verdict, And when the Jury crys they Guilty are, How they astonish'd are when they have heard it. When in mighty Storm a Ship is toss'd, And all do ask, What do's the Captain say? How they (poor Souls) bemoan themselves as lost, When his Advice at last is only, Pray! 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._