The Necessitated Virgin.  
See here the Virgin in distress,  
Complains Youngmen are pitiless;  
And she full fain would comfort find,  
To ease her fad perplexed mind.  
Tune of, What shall I do, shall I die for love, etc.  
 
 

What shall I do in this deep distress,  
is there no help to be had?  
Youngmen are grown so pitiless,  
'twill make poor Maids run mad.   

I am full fifteen Years of age,  
my Fortune is so bad;  
It puts me into such a Rage,  
'twill make me run quite mad.   

And had my Mother's fortune been like mine,  
so grievous sad,  
Then what a plight had she been in,  
and like me, almost mad.   

Had I a Sweetheart at this time,  
some thundering whisking Lad;  
To ease me now I'm in the Prime, v 'twould save my running mad.   

But I am quite Unfortunate,  
worse luck no Girl e'er had;  
Year after Year to pine and wait,  
'twill surely make me mad.   

Come Rich or Poor, come Old or Young,  
and make my heart full glad;  
For now my passion is so strong,  
that I shall run stark mad.   
 
 

TO see my Comrades Belly swell,  
it makes my heart full sad,  
And I I'm sure can kiss as well,  
would this not make one mad.   

Yea, some strange, old, and wrinkled things,  
good fortune they have had;  
Yea, taste from whence all comfort springs,  
would this not make one mad?   

And Doll the dirty Dairy-Maid,  
met with a brisk young Lad;  
At pleasant sport with her he played,  
else she had run quite mad.   

And greesie Sue, the Cook-wench too,  
good fortune she hath had;  
And Joan hath Sweethearts one or two,  
this, this will make me mad.   

I'm fair enough in my conceit,  
my Portion's not so bad;  
But if I cannot quickly have't,  
i'm sure I shall run mad.   

When hand in hand I see a Girl  
go mincing with her Lad;  
Then from mine eye there drops a pearl,  
and I am almost mad.   

In Dreams sometimes myself I please,  
and make my heart full glad;  
I wake, see no such things as these,  
this helps to make me mad.   

Besides i'm jeered by every one,  
'cause I no Love have had;  
Which makes me sigh, lament and groan,  
and makes me worse than mad.   

I am almost possessed with fears,  
which makes me dull and sad;  
That I shall lose my teeming years,  
and then I shall run mad.   

For in the world I think before  
such ill luck none e'er had;  
Now my condition I deplore,  
i'm ready to run mad.   

Some gentle youngman come away,  
and ease my heart so sad;  
I hourly for a Husband pray,  
for fear I should go mad.   

But if I cannot find relief  
with some young lusty Lad,  
I'll play the whore, and not the thief,  
and save my running mad.   
FINIS.   

Printed for J. Deacon, at the Rainbow, in Holborn, near Davids-Inn.