The Forlorn Damsel.  
Well, since there's neither Old nor Young,  
will pity on me take,  
My passion now doth grow so strong,  
I fear my heart will break.  
The Tune is, Moggy's Jealousy.  
 

COme pity 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 Deserts to take my abode,  
For I now in my sorrows do languish,  
my Maidenhead is such a load.   

Oh! why was I born to such fortune,  
as makes me so sadly repine,  
There is no Youngman so improtune,  
as to pity these sorrows of mine:  
Now must I be forced to complain,  
to some stranger that travels the Road,  
To ease all my sorrow and pain,  
since my Maidenhead 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 than I sit sighing and sobbing,  
and send forth my wishes abroad,  
My heart is e'en broken with throbbing,  
since, etc.   

 
ALL you that are happy by tasting,  
that which I do so much desire,  
See how I lie panting and wasting;  
consuming by amorous fire:  
There's none that is moved with pity,  
while plainly my folly is showed,  
And I sing this sorrowful Ditty,  
That my Maidenhead is a great load   

This burden 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 Maidenhead 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 Maidenhead, etc.   

How happy are you that are Married,  
and taste of Love's joys when you please,  
With patience too long have I tarried,  
till longing hath bred a Disease:  
More loathsome to me then the Venom,  
of Serpent or poisonous Toad,  
The Youngmen, the Devil is in 'em,  
to let me lie under this load.   

And now to conclude my sad Ditty,  
some lusty young Lad come away,  
And a poor Maid take some pity,  
whose Vitals begin to decay:  
For want of those pleasant delights,  
that to others are commonly showed,  
I pine both by days and by nights,  
since my Maidenhead is such a load.   
FINIS.   

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, near the Hospital-gate, in West-Smithfield.