Miss Wils—n, No. 11, Green-street, Cavendish-square.
'Tis now before you, and the pow'r to chuse.
Miss W—n is about twenty-four, light hair, rather above the common size. How such a piece of goods first came to our market we are at a loss to guess: we have indeed heard that she lived some time servant in Wapping; and, as the tars are good-natured, free-hearted fellows, and, after long voyages, are not very nice in their choice, they might perhaps have done her a good-natured action; this is the only way we can account for it, every other seems absurd to us. Her hands and arms, her limbs indeed, in general, are more calculated for the milk-carrier, than the soft delights of love; however, if she finds herself but in small estimation with our sex, she repays them the compliment, and frequently declares that a female bed-fellow can give more real joys than ever she experienced with the male part of the sex; perhaps her demands in that way may be so great that she never found a man able to supply her; this is but a natural conclusion, when a lady is remarked for paying visits to a fellow only famous for ideotism. The proverb indeed is on her side, and perhaps she has found it true. The ingenious author of the Woman of Pleasure has given us a noble picture of it in the foolish nosegay man.
Many of the pranks she has played with her own sex in bed (where she is as lascivious as a goat) have come to our knowledge; but, from our regard to the delicacy of the sex, are suppressed, but in no sort as a favour to her; our plan indeed is too confined to admit of it but we can assure her, unless she gives over that scandalous itch of hers, to sow dissensions where harmony and peace should ever reign, and which she envies because she cannot attain to—we shall not forget her next year, but be more explicit—and moreover acquaint her drone of a keeper.