The Forlorn Damsel.
Well, since there's neither Old nor Young,
will pitty on me take,
My passion now doth grow so strong,
I fear my heart will break.
The Tune is,
Moggy's Jealousie.
COme pitty a Damsel distressed,
all you that have tasted the bliss,
For while you with favours are blessed,
I hardly can meet with a kiss:
Which makes me resolve in my anguish,
in Desarts to take my abode,
For I now in my sorrows do languish,
my Maiden-head is such a load.
Oh! why was I born to such fortune,
as makes me so sadly repine,
There is no Young-man so improtune,
as to pitty these sorrows of mine:
Now must I be forc'd to complain,
to some stranger that travels the Road,
To ease all my sorrow and pain,
since my Maiden-head is such a load.
By night I with dreams am tormented,
supposing I am at the Game,
But waking am so discontented,
that I my hard fortune do blame:
O then I sit sighing and sobbing,
and send forth my wishes abroad,
My heart is e'ne broken with throbbing,
since, &c.
ALL you that are happy by tasting,
that which I do so much desire,
See how I lye panting and wasting;
consuming by amorous fire:
There's none that is moved with pitty,
while plainly my folly is show'd,
And I sing this sorrowful Ditty,
That my Maiden-head is a great load
This burthen cannot be endured,
but under it sadly I groan,
Yet little hope have to be cured,
since I am distressed alone:
There's many that never saw twenty,
that in pleasure live in their abode,
Who say to me, do not torment me,
though your Maiden-head be a great load.
But by them I cannot be ruled,
my passion's so violent strong,
For never was any so fooled,
that lived a Maiden so long;
But I must and I will have a man,
that with me shall make his abode,
For let me do all that I can,
still my Maiden-head, &c.
How happy are you that are Married,
and taste of Loves joys when you please,
With patience too long have I tarry'd,
till longing hath bred a Disease:
More loathsome to me then the Venom,
of Serpent or poysonous Toad,
The Young-men, the Devil is in 'um,
to let me lye under this load.
And now to conclude my sad Ditty,
some lusty young Lad come away,
And a poor Maid take some pitty,
whose Vitals begin to decay:
For want of those pleasant delights,
that to others are commonly show'd,
I pine both by days and by nights,
since my Maiden-head is such a load.
FINIS.