The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony: Responses From Women

 
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,
In Sleep again I wish to enjoy the Bliss:
For Sleep do's no malicious Spies admit,
Yet yields a lively Semblance of Delight.
Gods! what a Scene of Joy was that! how fast
I clasp'd the Vision to my panting Breast?
With what fierce Bounds I sprung to meet the Bliss,
While my wrapt Soul flew out in ev'ry Kiss!
Till breathless, faint, and softly sunk away,
I all dissolv'd in reaking Pleasures lay.
 

The Twelfth Plague

 
Happen what will, I'll make some Lovers know
What Pains, what raging Pains I undergo,
Till I am really Heart-sick, almost Dead,
By keeping that damn'd thing a Maiden-head.
Which makes me with Green Sickness almost lost,
So pale, so wan, and looking like a Ghost,
Eating Chalk, Cindars, or Tobacco-Pipes,
Which with a Looseness scowers all my Tripes;
But e'er I'll longer this great Pain endure,
The Stews I'll search, but that I'll find a Cure.
 

The Thirteenth Plague

 
Let doating Age debate of Law and Right,
And gravely state the Bounds of Just and Fit;
Whose Wisdom's but their Envy, to destroy
And bar those Pleasures which they can't enjoy.
My blooming Years, more sprightly and more gay,
By Nature were design'd for Love and Play:
Youth knows no Check, but leaps weak Virtue's Fence,
And briskly hunts the noble Chace of Sense!
Without dull thinking I'll Enjoyment trace,
And call that lawful whatsoe'er do's please.
Nor will my Crime want Instances alone,
'Tis what the Glorious Gods above have done;
For Saturn, and his greater Off-spring Jove,
Both stock'd their Heaven with Incestuous Love.
 

The Fourteenth Plague

 
If any Man do's with my Bubbies play,
Squeeze my small Hand, as soft as Wax or Clay,
Or lays his Hands upon my tender Knees,
What strange tumultuous Joys upon me seize!
My Breasts do heave, and languish do my Eyes,
Panting's my Heart, and trembling are my Thighs;
I sigh, I wish, I pray, and seem to die,
In one continu'd Fit of Ecstacy;
Thus by my Looks may Man know what I mean,
And how he easily may get between
Those Quarters, where he may surprize a Fort,
In which an Emperor may find such Sport,
That with a mighty Gust of Love's Alarms,
He'd lie dissolving in my circling Arms;
But 'tis my Fate to have to do with Fools,
Who're very loth and shy to use their Tools,
To ease a poor, and fond distressed Maid,
Of that same Load, of which I'm not afrad
To lose with any Man, tho' I should die,
For any Tooth (good Barber) is my Cry.
 

The Fifteenth Plague

 
Alas! I care not, Sir, what Force you'd use,
So I my Maiden-head could quickly lose:
Oft do I wish one skill'd in Cupid's Arts,
Would quickly dive into my secret Parts;
For as I am, at Home all sorts of Weather,
I kit,–as Heaven and Earth would come together,
Twirling a Wheel, I sit at home, hum drum,
And spit away my Nature on my Thumb;
Whilst those that Marry'd are, invited be
To Labours, Christnings, where the Jollitry
Of Women lies in telling, as some say,
When 'twas they did at Hoity-Toity play;
Whose Husband's Yard is longest, whilst another
Can't in the least her great Misfortune smother,
So tells, her Husband's Bauble is so short,
That when he Hunts, he never shews her Sport.
Now I, because I have my Maiden-head,
Mayn't know the Pastimes of the Nuptial Bed;
But mayn't I quickly do as Marry'd People may,
I'll either kill my self, or shortly run away.
 

FINIS

THE MAIDS VINDICATION: OR, THE FIFTEEN COMFORTS OF LIVING A SINGLE LIFE

Being an ANSWER to the Fifteen

Plagues of a Maiden-head

Written by a Gentlewoman

London, Printed for J. Rogers in Fleet-Street, 1707

The Maids Vindication:

OR,

The Fifteen Comforts of

being a Maid, &c

The First Comfort

 
Ye British Maids with British Beauty blest,
Wife as you're Fair, of ev'ry Grace possest,
Do not the least degenerate from your Worth,
Nor be less Chaste because you're thus set forth;
Have Patience then, and I'll revenge your Cause,
And all the deep Designs of wicked Men expose,
Shew the dear Comforts of a Single Life,
With all the Plagues and Ills of Wh–re or Wife.
 

The Second Comfort

 
Tell me you Grave Disputers of the Schools,
You learned Coxcombs, and you well read Fools;
You that have told us, Man must be our Head,
And made Dame Nature Pimp to what you've said,
Tell me where are the Joys of womans Life,
When she consents to be a wedded Wife:
Much less if she too kind and easie proves,
And grants her Heart to one that swears he loves,
I will not call her W–re, because I know
'Twas his false Oaths and Lyes that made her so:
But you that would to your own selves be just,
Nor Friend nor Husband but with caution trust.
 

The Third Comfort

 
And first, the greatest lasting'st Plague of Life,
Husband; the Constant Jaylor of a wife,
A proud insulting dominering thing,
Abroad a subject, but at Home a King,
There he in State does Arbitrary Reign,
And lordlike pow'r do's o'er his wife maintain.
For when she puts the Marriage Garments on, }
The pleasures Ended e'er 'tis well begun: }
But Plagues increase and hardly e're have done, }
The joy he Courted he dispises now,
And do's a perfect Married Nausiance grow,
 

The Fourth Comfort

 
It's Jealousie that maggot of the pate,
Possess the Sot, how violent's his hate,
What curst suspitions haunt his tortur'd Mind,
And make him look for what he would not find,
Nothing but Females must i'th House appear,
And not a Dog or Cat, that's Male be there,
Nay lest the unhappy wife shou'd have her longings,
He cuts out all the Men i'th Tapstry Hangings,
And if a harmless Letter's to her sent,
He'll make it speak worse sense than e'er it meant.
 

The Fifth Comfort

 
In a Curst Chamber, Cloyster'd up for Life,