To Aelia

Poor antiquated Slut, forbear,
Thy Importunity's so strong,
It will, I fear, corrupt the Air,
And doe an universal wrong.

Be modest, or I swear and vow,
I neither can nor will be kind;
Pox on't! now thou dost clam'rous grow,
There's no enduring in the wind.

Whilst silence did thy thoughts betray,
I only was the sufferer;
But now thy Lungs begin to play,
All the whole Province suffers here.

Faith, Aelia, if thou be'st so hot,
That nor Satiety; nor Age,
Can cool the over-boiling Pot,
Nor thy edullient Lust assuage,

Yet be so charitably kind,
Though damn'd thou art resolv'd to be,
As not to poyson all Mankind
By fulsome importunity.

But sure 'tis time we should give o'er,
And if I mourn my time mispent,
How much for fifty years of Whore
Ought'st thou, poor Aeli[…], to repent?

Yet, if in spight of all advice
Thou needs wilt importune me still,
I am not so reclaim'd from Vice,
But I can satisfie thy will:

And 'twill to my advantage be;
For should I new amours begin,
Delight might damn me, when with thee
The penance expiates the sin.