From the Bodleian Library, the closest I've found seems to be The Virgin, Only Nineteen Years Old printed by T. Pearson, Printer, 4 & 6, Chadderton Street, Oldham Road (Manchester), between 1850 and 1899.

A VIRGIN, ONLY NINETEEN YEARS OLD

As I was out walking one night near the Strand
I met a young damsel all hoop'd up so grand
She had feathers and finery, jewels and gold
And she said she was a virgin, yes a virgin only nineteen years old.

Her fingers were tapered, her neck like the swan
Her nose like a turnip, her voice not too strong
In three weeks we were married, and the wedding bells tolled.
That I married a virgin, yes a virgin, only nineteen years old.

The wedding party broke up, we retired to rest
But my hair stood upright when my bride she undressed
For a cart-load of padding my young bride did unfold
A thing very peculiar, very peculiar, for nineteen years old

First she took off her right foot, about a foot wide
Then she unscrew'd her left ear, and laid it aside
Then she pulled out her right eye, on the carpet it rolled
Thinks I, here's a virgin, what a virgin, only nineteen years old.

Next she unscrewed her left leg as far as the knee
Then pulled off her fingers, I counted just three
Then on her left shoulder, a large hump I did behold
So I said, there's a virgin only nineteen years old

When she wiped off her eyebrows I thought I should faint
And scrapped from her thin cheeks a cart-load of paint
When she pulled off her black wig, then her bald pate soon told
That she was an old virgin, an old virgin, more than nineteen years old.

When she pulled out her false teeth, jumped up in terror
For her nose and her chin very near stuck together
From the chamber I stepped, never more to behold
The virgin not nineteen, no not nineteen but ninety nine years old.

Now young man take a warning ere to church you go
Be sure your bride perfect, from top to the toe
Or you'll pay for your folly, and like me be sold
By some pach'd (?) up bit of stuff cruel old virgin
About ninety-nine years old.