this modern-sounding complaint was written in the 18th century

A charge that you cannot easily refute: The wizening celibacy among your youth, The consequent lack of people in Ireland And the decline in population on this island; The land left empty and in decline Wrecked by war, by death and rapine The kings with gumption who have gone overseas Have not been replaced by new inductees. Your race without young ones is sad to see With women burdening the land and the sea, Once buxom maids and lasses fresh With boiling blood and sultry flesh Are now lethargic, relicts debased Once trim girls are gone in the waist; ‘Tis a pity that these are without fruit of the womb Without swelling breasts and bellies in bloom. They just look for the word, please don’t wait Until they are past their sell-by date.