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
Alas! to seize the moment
When the heart inclines to heart,
And press a suit with passion,
read more
Alas! to seize the moment
When the heart inclines to heart,
And press a suit with passion,
Is not a woman's part.
If man come not to gather
The roses where they stand,
They fade among their foliage,
They cannot seek his hand.
There is a tide in the affairs of women
Which, taken at the flood, leads--God knows where.
There is a tide in the affairs of women
Which, taken at the flood, leads--God knows where.
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.
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?
So mourn'd the dame of Ephesus her Love,
And thus the Soldier arm'd with Resolution
Told his read more
So mourn'd the dame of Ephesus her Love,
And thus the Soldier arm'd with Resolution
Told his soft Tale, and was a thriving Wooer.
"Yes," I answered you last night;
"No," this morning, sir, I say:
Colors seen by candle-light
read more
"Yes," I answered you last night;
"No," this morning, sir, I say:
Colors seen by candle-light
Will not look the same by day.
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.
How often in the summer-tide,
His graver business set aside,
His stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed
read more
How often in the summer-tide,
His graver business set aside,
His stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed
As to the pipe of Pan,
Stepped blithesomely with lover's pride
Across the fields to Anne.
Blessed is the wooing
That is not long a-doing.
Blessed is the wooing
That is not long a-doing.
