Virginity grown Troublesome: OR, The Younger Sisters Lamentation for want of a Husband.
Being a most pleasant and Delightful New Song much in use, &c.
Each Age grows Riper, love does still prevail,
And Maiden-heads at Sixteen now are stale;
Young Girls to Mothers will be turn'd e're they
Know what it means, slie
Cupid does betray,
Fires them with love, and then there's nothing can
Cure their distemper, unless Oyl of Man.
to a pleasant New West-Country Tune.
I Have a good old Mother at home,
which keeps me from Wedlock still,
What shall I do, shall I dye for love,
and never have my will.
As I walkt forth within the fields,
to see the Bushes spring;
The little Birds they chang'd their notes,
and I heard the Cuckoo sing.
My Sister is married to her content,
and is made a wedded Wife;
And with her Husband she doth live,
a sweet contented life.
But I poor soul must lye alone,
who am more fair than she;
VVhat shall I do, shall I dye for love,
and never, &c.
There is ne'r a one in all the Town,
that can compare with me:
VVhat shall I do, shall I dye for love,
and never Married be.
NOw I must into some far Countrey,
or into some forraign Land;
For to find out a bonny Lad,
to be at my command.
Love pleasures all things do surpass,
as I do plainly see;
VVhat shall I do, shall I dye for love,
and never married be.
Come some brisk Lad, O come with speed,
and me from care set free;
O what shall I do, shall I dye for love,
and never, &c.
Alas, for what was beauty made,
was't only for to see:
What shall I do, I am afraid
I ne'r shall, &c.
To languish thus is worse then death,
some sweet youth come wedd me;
What shall I loose my Virgin breath,
and never Married be.
Kind Heaven my Sister did befriend,
whilst none's more lov'd then she:
What shall I do, shall I dye for love,
and never Married be.
Good
Cupid at some gentle heart
let thy swift Arrow flee;
Will no kind Young-man take my part,
that I may Married be.
O cruel young men, what d'ye mean,
from joy to hinder me;
What shall I do, shall I dye for love,
and never married be.
Is it my Portions smallness then,
that make you not agree;
What shall I do, shall I dye for love,
and never married be.
If it be that i'le make it more,
to labour i'le be free;
What shall I do, shall I dye for love,
and never married be.
Oh how I sigh to lye alone,
and wish for Company;
What shall I do, shall I make moan,
and never married be.
To tear my Hair I scarce refrain,
when Weddings I do see;
What shall I always feel this pain,
and never married be.
How bless'd are they who in each Grove,
receive embraces free,
What shall I do, shall I dye for love,
and never married be.
Then some kind youth come plvck the fruit
from blooming beauty's Tree:
What shall I dye, in this dispute,
and never married be.
These twenty years now have I liv'd,
and none e're asked me:
Let me not dye, kind youths for love,
and never married be.
Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, in West-smithfield.