Some are soon bagg'd but some reject three dozen.
'Tis fine to see them scattering refusals
And wild dismay, o'er every angry cousin
(Friends of the party) who begin accusals,
Such as--"Unless Miss (Blank) meant to have chosen
Poor Frederick, why did she accord perusals
To his billets? Why waltz with him? Why, I pray,
Look yes least night, and yet say No to-day?"
You May Also Like / View all maxioms
Never wedding, ever wooing,
Still a lovelorn heart pursuing,
Read you not the wrong you're doing
read more
Never wedding, ever wooing,
Still a lovelorn heart pursuing,
Read you not the wrong you're doing
In my cheek's pale hue?
All my life with sorrow strewing;
Wed or cease to woo.
'Twas he that ranged the words at random flung,
Pierced the fair pearls and them together strung.
'Twas he that ranged the words at random flung,
Pierced the fair pearls and them together strung.
'Tis an old lesson; time approves it true,
And those who know it best, deplore it most;
read more
'Tis an old lesson; time approves it true,
And those who know it best, deplore it most;
When all is won that all desire to woo,
The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost.
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan
A lady fair.
Wha does the utmost that he read more
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan
A lady fair.
Wha does the utmost that he can
Will whyles do mair.
'Tis enough--
Who listens once will listen twice;
Her heart be sure is not of ice,
read more
'Tis enough--
Who listens once will listen twice;
Her heart be sure is not of ice,
And one refusal no rebuff.
Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes;
But no too humbly, or she will despise
Thee and read more
Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes;
But no too humbly, or she will despise
Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes:
Disguise even tenderness if thou art wise.
After the number of the days in which ye searched the land, even
forty days, each day for a read more
After the number of the days in which ye searched the land, even
forty days, each day for a year, shall ye bear your iniquities,
even forty years, and ye shall know my breach of promise.
Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast,
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs.
Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast,
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs.
Why don't the men propose, mamma?
Why don't the men propose?
Why don't the men propose, mamma?
Why don't the men propose?
