The MAIDENS Moan,
OR,
Her sad and sorrowful Complaint for want of a Husband.
Let not my wishes be withstood,
young men some pity shew;
You know that I am Flesh and Blood
Alas! as well as you.
To the Tune of, A Touch of the Times. Or, The Countrey Farmer. This may be Printed , R. P.
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I am a poor Maiden in woful distress,
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Still dayly tormented I needs must confess;
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To see young Maids marry'd, and I lye alone,
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O what is the reason that I can get none,
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I pine and I fret my self out of my Wit,
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To see many marry'd, and I a Maid yet,
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Which makes me to languish, to sigh and make moan,
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To see thousands marry'd, and I lye alone.
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I shall be undone if some young man with speed,
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He comes not to help a poor Maid in her need:
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I tumble and toss in my Lodging all night,
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And wish to partake of that pleasant delight,
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Which other young Women enjoys in their bed,
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But woe be to me that shall never be sped,
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It makes me to languish, to sigh and make moan,
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To see, etc.
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When I see young women give each child the breast,
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O then in my heart I am sorely opprest,
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And tho' I do hide it as much as I can,
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In private I weep for the help of a man:
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If some speedy course be not taken I say,
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It is to be fear'd I shall then go astray;
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For here do I languish, nay, sigh, and make moan,
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To see, etc.
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Each morning when I am a making the Bed,
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A thousand strange fancies deep run in my head,
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My Vitals does tingle, I scratch and I tear
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And wish that some pritty young gallant was there
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That would help a maiden out at a dead lift
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For never was Creature more put to the shift,
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Which makes me to languish, to sigh, and make moan,
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To see thousands marry'd, and I lye alone .
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Good people I tell you the cause of my grief,
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It is because young-men won't yield me relief;
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In my best apparrel I dayly appear,
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And yet notwithstanding I'm never the near,
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In Bed I am knawing the sheets all the night,
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To think of the comfort I'de have if I might;
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And thus do I languish, nay, sigh, and make moan,
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To see, etc.
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Of all Maids in London my luck is the worst,
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With sorrow my heart it is ready to burst,
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To think that no young man will make me his Bride,
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Altho' I am youthful and handsome beside:
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I think I was born in the Arse of the Moon,
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That never a one will take me in my bloom,
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I weep and I languish, nap, sigh and make moan,
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To see, etc.
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My longing will kill me I greatly do fear
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If I be not marry'd before the next year;
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Therefore if some Youth will take pity on me,
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My heart from this sorrow wou'd soon be set free:
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Had I but my Will, I wou'd marry to morrow.
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A man of mine own; then I need not to borrow;
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But this will not be, here I sigh and make moan,
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To see, etc.
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No Damsel, I'm certain, was e're so opprest,
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For want of a Husband I take little rest,
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Sometimes in a slumber I dream of the bliss,
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But when I awaken what torment is this:
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To find that it was but a meer golden Dream,
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My passion does rise too a far worse extream;
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I sigh, and I weep, and make pittiful moan,
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To see, etc.
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There's Dolly and Bridget , with Nancy and Kate ,
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Nay Susan and Sarah all marry'd of late,
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Then what is the reason that I cannot have
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The thing I so often desire and crave;
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I'm sure I'm as handsom as any of these
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And wou'd be as willing a Husband to please,
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But here I am forced to sigh and make moan,
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'Cause thousands are marry'd and I lye alone.
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