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THE DYING PROSTITUTE. A POEM.

BY CHARLES CRAWFORD, Esq

Behold the house of incontinence: the mark of infamy is indelibly stamped on the threshold, and on the posts of the door. At the window sitteth misfortune forcing a smile; and within are remorse, and disease, and irretrievable mi­sery.

Whole Duty of Woman. By a Lady.

A NEW EDITION.

PHILADELPHIA: PRINTED, 1797.

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PREFACE.

THE prostitution of women, [...] pre­vails to a high degree in all large ci­ties, might be considerably lessened by giv­ing them encouragement to enter into vari­ous occupations which are suitable to them. An appeal should be made to the delicacy and the prudence of ladies of fortune, not to employ any but their own sex, as milli­ners, and as stay-makers. A man twirling a cap, or bending a pair of stays, should be an object of ridicule, because he is an in­strument of mischief. He does harm by taking the bread from those who cannot get it but by such means, while he can get it by innumerable other means. Women, how­ever, I think might be employed in many more occupations than are usually given to them. * Some think their modesty might be hurt in taking measure for a suit of clothes. They might, however, sew the clothes to­gether, as is the custom in some places, af­ter they were cut out by the tailor. The [Page iv]making stuff shoes for their own sex, might not be an improper employment for women. Some of the Dutch and Germans who settle in America; make their daughters do several parts of the work of their farms, even as far as ploughing. The work of a farm might be thought by some too laborious an occupation for women; but the advantages arising from thus employing women might be very considerable. It might be of great use to agriculture, as well as to the women themselves, by giving them health and cheer­fulness, * and by preventing their living in large cities (which are very mischievous to a country) where, through the want of bread, they might be tempted to prostitution.

The best preservative, however, from the prostitution of women, especially of the lower class, may consist in the institution of First-day or Sunday schools. If you are so fortunate as to give people a sincere regard for Christianity, you will make them chaste. There are some who talk of the morality of the Deists. I can safely say, however, though I have known many Deists, that I scarcely e­ver knew one moral character among them. It is the constant delight of almost very un­believer, [Page v]to ridicule that chastity which is re­vered by Christians. St. Paul, by what he says in the 24th verse of the 1st chapter of the Epis­tle to the Romans, and in what he say in the following part of his First Epistle to the Thessa­lonians, seems to justify these notions. ‘For this is the will of God, even your sanctifica­tion that ye should abstain from fornication; That every one should know how to pos­sess his vessel in sanctification and honour; Not in the lust of concupiscence, even as the Gentiles, which know not God.’ I. Epistle, chap. iv, ver. 3, 4, 5.

To those who have never been in large ci­ties, it may appear improbable that women of the town should die in any of them through want. This fact, however, may be ascertained beyond the possibility of doubt. A true story is told of the celebrated Dr. Johnson, which makes him, in this particular, greatly to re­semble the good Samaritan in Scripture. It is said, that once in London, when he was going to his house, he saw a woman lying prostrate in the street. Upon inquiry he found it was a woman of the town, who had become weak and incapable to move through want. He nobly took her upon his back to his house, gave her food and lodging until she was perfectly recovered, and then with sensible admonitions to reform, dismissed her. This glorious act of humanity, might [Page vi]make some atonement for the unjust severity with which he sometimes treated others, for which he expressed his remorse and his repen­tance a little while before his death. Seneca says, that Cato composed in bad fortune, was a spectacle, which heaven might look down up­on with pleasure. Ecce Spectaculum ad quod respiciat operi suo intentus Deus! Ecce Ca­tonem inter malam fortunam compositum! Might not this be said of Jonson with a poor helpless female upon his back, whom he was going to relieve, not for the purposes of lust, but charity?—"Go thou and do likewise."

The cities of London and Philadelphia are both famous for the humane and chari­table institutions which they contain. I think that London may adopt a society for the al­leviation of the miseries of public prisons, in imitation of Philadelphia. (The celebrated Mr. Howard said he would have given five hundred pounds sterling, upon the spot, for the furtherance of such a society in London.) And in return, Philadelphia may in time, imitate London in the erection of a Magda­len Hospital. *

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THE DYING PROSTITUTE.

COLD blew the blast with hollow shrieks,
And dreary was the night;
In which the hail ungenial dropt,
Diffusing baleful blight.
'Twas then beside the common path,
Her head on earth reclin'd,
The poor deserted Lucy lay,
And shiver'd to the wind.
No house had she, sad wretch, forlorn,
Wherein to shield that head;
And hunger, cold, and fell disease,
And guilt upon her prey'd.
Like rav'ning eagles void of food,
They fasten'd to her corse;
They lacerated all her heart,
And drank of life the source.
A fierce and withering disease,
By heav'n in terror sent,
Of unconfin'd unhallow'd love,
As the dread punishment,
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Had desolated all her form,
Where youthful loves once play'd,
Her full delicious hair had mow'd,
Her breath had fetid made.
Ah! how unlike to what she was,
Of virtue when approv'd,
When in her father's house she dwelt,
By all her village lov'd!
The lily which luxuriant grows,
In some sequester'd vale,
Near some pure stream, and shelter'd round
From ev'ry ruder gale;
Which nature's fragrant fav'rite blooms,
Scenting the ambient air,
That lily was not sweeter then,
And was not half so fair.
Nor was that most unhappy sire,
Whom his lov'd child's disgrace,
To death had immaturely giv'n,
Of an ignoble race.
But now no pois'nous weed obscene,
Of curs'd malignant growth,
Could torture more the aching sense,
And cause it more to loath.
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And as the wretched outcast lay
Upon the chilly earth.
In still low sounds she falt'ring breath'd
These plaintive accents fortb.
"Daughters of virtue! I will own,
"Here while I grieve in dust,
"Your indignation to be wise,
"Your censure to be just.
"I mourn the loss of virtuous fame,
"As for blithe rose-cheek'd health,
"Languish the sick, or famish'd poor
"For comfort-giving wealth.
"Ah how I rue my hapless fall!
"How curse the black-wing'd day,
"Which gave me (ah! could hell do worse?)
"A prostitute to stray!
"Yet did your mild ingenuous hearts,
"Our various mis'ries know,
"Our lonesome days, the grinning scorn,
"Which mocks where'er we go;
"Though ye would still detest th' offence,
"Yet o'er the offender's head,
"Soft pity, for it dwells with you,
"A tear would make you shed.
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"But men are unrelenting, harsh:
"Night wolves which hunt for prey,
"Through long-corroding hunger, wild,"
"Are scarce more fierce than they."
As thus she spake, a churlish watch,
Who her lamentings heard,
With many a sharp and brutal taunt,
Her ghastly form uprear'd.
Which unto prison as he dragg'd,
Through pain and wo out-tir'd,
From his rude grasp she fell, and groan'd,
And at his feet expir'd.
The gen'rous bard, thou gloomy shade!
Who married wast to wo,
Gives, while he reprobates thy crime,
A tear for thee to flow.
For many a dark flagitious scheme,
And many a treach'rous art,
Did thy seducer practice, ere
He lur'd thy gentle heart.
Then flush'd with youth, and fortune's smile,
Thy fall and ruin'd fame,
As if it wreath'd his brow with bay,
Dar'd wontonly proclaim.
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But heav'n his ill-weav'd happiness,
In ire arous'd shall blast;
And on his head, in warning wrath,
Its vengeance-bolt shall cast.
O Chastity, salubrious gift,
Sent from the pow'r above,
As guardian of our sweetest bliss,
The bliss of wedded love!
The woman who thy law contemns,
What feral ills annoy!
Thou spare and icy-bosom'd nurse
Of hallow'd love and joy!
For though she 'scape the cruel woes,
The pensive muse has sung,
Yet shall her grace decay through grief,
And her mid-heart be wrung.
But the unspotted virgin pure,
Whom thou vouchsaf'st inspire,
Who checks, ere it dilates, each spark
Of Love's unhallow'd fire;
Laments exquisite remorse,
No rude pernicious care,
Which makes, e'en in the spring of youth,
The leaf of beauty sear.
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To her in purity refin'd,
Alone to live 'tis giv'n,
That she from all distraction free,
May form herself for heav'n.
Or by her lover with delight,
To marriage she is led,
With deathless wreaths of laughing flow'rs,
He decks the genial bed.
A train of fair-ey'd pleasures wait,
In beautiful array;
And smiling hours with pinions white,
Succeed th' auspicious day.
And the glad fire, in th' eve of life,
When cheerful joys are few,
Feels at her bliss those transports warm,
Which in blithe youth he knew.
THE END.

Lately published by this Author, A Poetical Paraphrase on our Saviour's Sermon on the Mount; The Progress of Liberty, a Pindaric Ode; The Christian, a Poem, in six books; Observations up­on the Revolution in France; &c. &c.

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