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,