WESTMINSTER DROLLERY, 1671.
Reading edition
A SONG.
That Beauty I ador'd before, I now as much despise: 'Tis Money only makes the Whore: She that for love with her Crony lies, Is chaste: But that's the Whore that kisses for prize. Let Jove with Gold his Danae woo, It shall be no rule for me: Nay, 't may be I may do so too, When I'me as old as he. Till then I'le never hire the thing that's free. If Coin must your affection Imp, Pray get some other Friend: My Pocket ne're shall be my Pimp, I never that intend, Yet can be noble too, if I see they mend. Since Loving was a Liberal Art, How canst thou trade for gain? The pleasure is on your part, 'Tis we Men take the pain: And being so, must Women have the gain? No, no, I'le never farm your Bed, Nor your Smock-Tenant be: I hate to rent your white and red, You shall not let your Love to me: I court a Mistris, not a Landlady. A Pox take him that first set up, Th' Excise of Flesh and Skin: And since it will no better be, Let's both to kiss begin; To kiss freely: if not, you may go spin.