MY LORD, We pity such as are by Tempest lost, And those by Fortune’s blind Disposal crost; But when Men see, and may the Danger shun, Yet headlong into certain Ruin run: 5 To pity such, must needs be Ridicule; Do not (my Lord) be that unpity’d Fool. There’s a Report, which round the Town is spread, The fam’d MOLL HOWARD you intend to Wed; If it be true, my Lord, then guard your Head: 10 Horns, Horns, by wholesale, will adorn your Brows, If e’r you make that rampant Whore your Spouse. Think on the lewd Debauches of her Life; Then tell me, if she’s fit to be your Wife. She that, to quench her lustful, hot Desire, 15 Has kiss’d with Dukes, Lords, Knights, and Country Squire; Nay, Grooms and Footmen have been claw’d off by her. Whoring has all her Life-time been her Trade, And D—set says, she is an exc’lent Baud: But finding both will not defray Expence, 20 She lately is become an Evidence; Swears against all that won’t her Lust supply, And says, they’re false as Hell to Monarchy. You had a Wife; but, rest her Soul, she’s dead, By whom your Lordship by the Nose was led: 36425 And will you run into that Noose agen, To be the greatest Monster among Men? Think on the Horns that will adorn your Head, And the Diseases that will fill your Bed: Pox upon Pox, most horrid and most dire! 30 And Ulcers fill’d with Hell’s Eternal Fire. Forbear therefore, and call your Senses home; Let Reason Love’s blind Passion overcome: For, if you make this base Report once true, You’l wound your Honour, Purse, and Body too.