The Whoremongers Conversion,  
And his Exhortation to's worshipful friend,  
To leave haunting whores; from his words this wasptenned:  
And at his request, which makes the Author bolder:  
It is to be sung like the maunding Soldier.  

 
 

GOod your Worship cast your eye,  
Upon a whore-house scornfully  
Let not their painted faces gay,  
Drive from your heart all grace away:  
but like a Neaphite,  
abandon quite  
all sensual pleasure and delight:  
and then you soon shall find  
a swéets contented minds,  
and have your purse still better lined.   

To beg I was not borne, sweet sir,  
Yet this petition I prefer  
Unto your worship: which may give  
You good instructions how to live,  
leave following of Whores,  
and them that roars,  
oh do not come within their doors,  
and then you soon will find  
a sweet contented mind  
and have your purse still better lined.   

I'd scorn to make comparison,  
With a jew, a Turk, or Sarizon:  
That in their lives ne'er tasted grace,  
But still have run a wicked race:  
yet in bad desires,  
called Cupid's fires,  
they pass not you, than need requires,  
that you your Whores forsake,  
and better courses take,  
or else you'll feel th' infernal Lake.   

Then scorn those painted counterfeits,  
That get their means by wicked sleights,  
They'll learn you so much parley French,  
From you shall come a rotten stench,  
and at last you shall  
be forced to fall,  
●ith Surgeons hands, o'th' Hospital:  
there you shall lie and rot  
this is by Whoring got,  
then good your worship use it not.   

For I (sir) limping lame have been,  
Sore bitten by the Scorpiuns kéene,  
In a bawdy house I used to roar,  
Till all my joints were pocky sore:  
all this I have endured,  
which vice procured,  
and since of health I am assured,  
I will do what I can,  
to hinder every man  
from that base course which once I ran.   

Thrice thorou the skull I have been shot,  
Till all my hair came off, God wots,  
I have at least a dozen times  
Been apprehended for these crimes:  
the Constable and Watch  
oft did me catch.  
thus I disgrace got by the match:  
and so shall every one  
that does as I have done:  
then, good your worship, wenching shun.    

The second part,  
To the same tune.  
 
 

AT pot and pipe I lost mine eye,  
In quarrel most unluckily:  
To old-stréet end, though then a lad,  
Four wenches at one time I had:  
oh you would little ween,  
that I have been  
a Champion unto many a Quean:  
I have been beaten sore,  
i'th' quarrel of a whore,  
but now I will be so no more.   

I coming from a play was ta'en,  
By th' Marshal's men in Golding-lane,  
And stripped out of money quite,  
Exchanging Gold for Silver white:  
thus in poor array  
I hrisoner lay,  
until my friends the debd did pay,  
for a bond of my word I passed,  
and thus was scorned at last:  
then good your worship live more chaste.   

There's no bad place that you can name,  
But I have been in't, the more's my shame;  
In Turnbull street and Bloomesbury,  
I have played my part most shamelessly:  
at Blackman-stréet I have  
like a lustful knave,  
received what welcome harlots gave:  
and at Rosemary lane  
I did two whores maintain,  
but now their baseness I disdain.   

And since I have been at Cow-crosse  
So punished with my Purses loss:  
Since that at Pickt-hatch I by chance  
Learned French of one that ne'er saw France:  
there I lost my cloak,  
which almost broke  
me quite: all this for truth is spoke,  
and now I hom ame come  
with a newly mended bum,  
such hap jove keep your worship from.   

And now my case you understand,  
Good sir, let me this boon demand:  
That you'll be warned by me, and leave  
These damned Queans that will bereave  
not only you of wealth,  
but body's health,  
nay that's not all, for they by stealth  
will steal your soul away,  
to be the devil's prey:  
then sweet sir, leave them while you may.   

I pray your worship think on me,  
That am a poor man, as you see:  
Yet once I was with wealth endued,  
Which I have spent with strumpet's lewd  
and so will you in time,  
if this your prime  
you waste away in such a crime:  
but I for you will pray,  
that you may mend this day.  
Oh sweet sir, think of what I say.    
M.P.  
FINIS.   

London Printed for Fr. Cowles.