Thomas Haynes Bayly

Why don't the men propose, mamma?
    Why don't the men propose?
Each seems just coming to the point,
    And then away he goes;
It is no fault of yours, mamma,
    That everybody knows;
You fête the finest men in town,
    Yet, oh! they won't propose.

I'm sure I've done my best, mamma,
    To make a proper match;
For coronets and eldest sons,
    I'm ever on the watch;
I've hopes when some distingue beau
    A glance upon me throws;
But though he'll dance and smile and flirt,
    Alas! he won't propose.

I've tried to win by languishing,
    And dressing like a blue;
I've bought big books and talked of them
    As if I'd read them through!
With hair cropp'd like a man I've felt
    The heads of all the ...