Virginity grown Troublesome: OR, The Younger Sisters Lamentation for want of a Husband.  
Being a most pleasant and Delightful New Song much in use, etc.  
Each Age grows Riper, love does still prevail,  
And Maidenheads at Sixteen now are stolen;  
Young Girls to Mothers will be turned  they  
Know what it means, sly Cupid does betray,  
Fires them with love, and then there's nothing can  
Cure their distemper, unless Oil of Man.  
to a pleasant New West-Country Tune.  
 depiction of person  
 depiction of man  

I Have a good old Mother at home,  
which keeps me from Wedlock still,  
What shall I do, shall I die for love,  
and never have my will.   

As I walked forth within the fields,  
to see the Bushes spring;  
The little Birds they changed 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 lie alone,  
who am more fair than she;  
What shall I do, shall I die for love,  
and never, etc.   

There is ne'er a one in all the Town,  
that can compare with me:  
What shall I do, shall I die for love,  
and never Married be.   
 depiction of man  
 depiction of woman  

NOw I must into some far Country,  
or into some foreign Land;  
For to find out a bonny Lad,  
to be at my command.   

Love pleasures all things do surpass,  
as I do plainly see;  
What shall I do, shall I die 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 die for love,  
and never, etc.   

Alas, for what was beauty made,  
was't only for to see:  
What shall I do, I am afraid  
I ne'er shall, etc.   

To languish thus is worse than death,  
some sweet youth come wed me;  
What shall I lose my Virgin breath,  
and never Married be.   

Kind Heaven my Sister did befriend,  
whilst none's more loved than she:  
What shall I do, shall I die for love,  
and never Married be.   

Good Cupid at some gentle heart  
let thy swift Arrow flee;  
Will no kind Youngman 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 die for love,  
and never married be.   

Is it my Portions smallness then,  
that make you not agree;  
What shall I do, shall I die for love,  
and never married be.   

If it be that i'll make it more,  
to labour i'll be free;  
What shall I do, shall I die for love,  
and never married be.   

Oh how I sigh to lie 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 blessed are they who in each Grove,  
receive embraces free,  
What shall I do, shall I die for love,  
and never married be.   

Then some kind youth come pluck the fruit  
from blooming beauty's Tree:  
What shall I die, in this dispute,  
and never married be.   

These twenty years now have I lived,  
and none e'er asked me:  
Let me not die, kind youths for love,  
and never married be.    

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, in West-smithfield.