The Discontented Lady: A New SONG much in Request.  
To a New Tune much in Request at Court and the Playhouse.  

I.  
How vile are the sordid Intrigues of the Town,  
cheating and lying perpetually sway,  
From the blue cap to the politic gown,  
a plotting and sotting they wast the day;  
All their Discourse is of Foreign Affairs,  
The French and the Wars  
Is always their Cry;  
Marriage alas! is declining,  
And I a poor Virgin lie pining,  
a Curse of their Jarring, what Luck have I.   

II.  
I thought a young Trader by ogling Charms,  
into my Conjugal Fetters to bring.  
I planted my snare too, for one that loved Arms,  
but found his Design was another thing.  
From the Court Province down to the dull Cits,  
Both Cullies and Wits,  
Of Marriage are shy;  
Great are the Sins of the Nation,  
A Shame of the wretched Occasion,  
a curse of the Monsieurs, what Luck have I.   

III.  
A Counsellor promised to give me a Fee,  
and sworehe would make me a Lady of Sport  
But I was resolved not a Harlot to be,  
if he could have made me Lass of the Court.  
When that he saw how I was inclined,  
And what I designed,  
He made meReply,  
Virgins alas! are too cruel,  
Oh! be kind to me, my dear Jewel,  
a curse of your whining I then did cry.   

IV.  
The next a young Seaman, of Honour and Fame,  
he daily contrived my Love for to win;  
And swore if he could but my Favour obtain,  
great Treasure & Riches unto me he'd bring:  
But when he saw that I would not yield,  
Unto him the Field,  
Unless he would wed;  
He stood like a Man was enchanted,  
Sure never was Seaman so daunted,  
because I refused him my Maidenhead.   

V.  
Of late a young Scholar from Oxford did come,  
whom for a Husband I thought to entrap;  
But I did find him too hard to be won,  
which makes me complain at my cruel mishap:  
All Men alike of Marriage are shy,  
Which makes me to cry,  
A Shame of them all!  
Thus to leave Wedlock declining,  
And I a poor Virgin lie pining;  
when that my Request it is but so small.   

VI  
The Counsellor, Soldier, and Countryman too,  
daily from Tavern to Coffeehouse go;  
There they do plot and contrive what to do,  
which makes my poor Heart be so full of Woe:  
They talk of Religion, though little they have;  
But how to live brave,  
They always do strive,  
And leave a poor Virgin complaining,  
While they their Designs are obtaining,  
Sure there is no honest Men scarce alive.    

Printed for C. Bates, at the White Hart in West-smithfield.