On those women, who pretend that poverty provoketh to inchastity.

SHall poverty destroy us? Is the mind
(The noble temper of the soul) confin'd
To such a baseness, that we cannot be
Our selves, unless we hug prosperity?
Shall we confess an Hell? conceit withall,
There is an Heaven, where the Angelical
Receive immortal joy? Shall we believe
It was ordain'd for poor ones, such as grieve
In a continual want? and hourly groan
Under the burthen of affliction?
And shall we be so senseless to agree,
That vertuous souls can fall by poverty?
Tell me, intemperate creatures, in what state
Did ye salute the world at first? what rate
Were your gay garments priz'd at, when you cry'd
For needful coverture, no Robes for pride?
When as the pregnant brest gave more content
Then the prosusest Banquets ye have spent,
Usher'd with Wine and Musique? when nor wit,
Nor best inventions could your Pallat sit?
When all your learned Cooks could not retain
Sufficient Art to wast your wealth in vain?
But now the Spring of riot is drawn dry,
Ye cannot as you would; true proverty
Contents it self with nought, and scorns to raise
A wretched riches by sinister wayes:
Yet this recalls not you, but makes you guess
Ye have a warrant for your wickedness,
For when some virtuous Soul desires to see
The Cause ye have, you shew your Poverty,
And som small charge of Children, which you say
You must provide for 'gainst their Marriage day:
Thus, fed by vice, they live, when they'r at Age,
Tis your damnation, proves their Heritage:
Admit your care be less, that y'are beguil'd
The procreated Blessing of a child,
Your Cause is so much lesser, will you give
Your pretious Soul to make one Body live?
Sure your kind Parents were not so unwise
As not to teach your hands some mysteries,
To keep your Body spotless, and preserve
Your Soule, which (of the two's most like to starve)
Endeavour then, they'r poor beyond all fear,
That are not worth the flesh and blood they wear;
Tell me (ye pitied Spectacles of woe)
How will your pride, and your rich rayment show,
When as your sordid Suitors shall proclaim
Ye won them by an Act ye dare not name?
When they shall tell their neighb'ring Lechers how
They wrought upon your willingness, and shew
(In their rank Ribaldry) how hot and high
Your wantonness advanc'd their luxury?
Who will conceit such a lewd thing as this
Did e're know chastity? or that there is
So great a vertue resident? or think
She ever priz'd it, that thus low could sink?
Not I, believe me, I'le as soon allow
Poyson and Balm may from one issue flow;
For she whom want will make a Wanton, doth
Make foul Adultery the Nurse of Sloth.