The Forlorn damsel. Well, since there's neither old nor young, will pitty on me take, my passion now doth grow so strong, I fear my heart will break. : The tune is, Moggy's jealousie. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A84710 of text R228211 in the English Short Title Catalog (Wing F1559). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 4 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 A84710 Wing F1559 ESTC R228211 45097785 ocm 45097785 171373 2240868243

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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A84710) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 171373) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 2572:22) The Forlorn damsel. Well, since there's neither old nor young, will pitty on me take, my passion now doth grow so strong, I fear my heart will break. : The tune is, Moggy's jealousie. 1 sheet ([1] p.) : ill. Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, near the Hospital-gate, in West-Smithfield., [London] : [between 1674-1695] Date of publication suggested by Wing. Contains headpiece and three cut illustrations. In verse. Reproduction of original in the Bodleian Library. eng Ballads, English -- 17th century. Broadsides -- England -- 17th century. eebo The forlorn damsel. Well, since there's neither old nor young, will pitty on me take, my passion now doth grow so strong, I fear my heart will break. [no entry] 1670 2 545 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 A This text has no known defects that were recorded as gap elements at the time of transcription. 2007-09 Assigned for keying and markup 2007-11 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2007-12 Sampled and proofread 2007-12 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-02 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
The Forlorn Damsel . Well , since there 's neither Old nor Young , will pitty on me take , My passion now doth grow so strong , I fear my heart will break . The Tune is , Moggy's Jealousie .

COme pitty 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 Desarts to take my abode , For I now in my sorrows do languish , my Maiden-head is such a load . Oh! why was I born to such fortune , as makes me so sadly repine , There is no Young-man so improtune , as to pitty these sorrows of mine : Now must I be forc'd to complain , to some stranger that travels the Road , To ease all my sorrow and pain , since my Maiden-head 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 then I sit sighing and sobbing , and send forth my wishes abroad , My heart is e'ne broken with throbbing , since , &c.
ALL you that are happy by tasting , that which I do so much desire , See how I lye panting and wasting ; consuming by amorous fire : There 's none that is moved with pitty , while plainly my folly is show'd , And I sing this sorrowful Ditty , That my Maiden-head is a great load This burthen 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 Maiden-head 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 Maiden-head , &c. How happy are you that are Married , and taste of Loves joys when you please , With patience too long have I tarry'd , till longing hath bred a Disease : More loathsome to me then the Venom , of Serpent or poysonous Toad , The Young-men , the Devil is in 'um , to let me lye under this load . And now to conclude my sad Ditty , some lusty young Lad come away , And a poor Maid take some pitty , whose Vitals begin to decay : For want of those pleasant delights , that to others are commonly show'd , I pine both by days and by nights , since my Maiden-head is such a load . FINIS .

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