Page:York, you're wanted.pdf/3

 And when we thought the flats would bite,
 * The word was—York, you're wanted.

A maiden lady, you must know,
 * Just sixty-three years old, Sir,

There fell in love with my sweet face,
 * And I with sweet gold, Sir.

She said, the little god of love
 * Her tender bosom haunted,—

Dear Sir, I almost blush to own,
 * But. Mr York you're wanted.

In wedlock's joys, you need not doubt,
 * Most happily I roll'd Sir,

And how we lov'd, or how we fought,
 * Shall never now be told, Sir;

For Mr Death stept in one day,
 * And swift his dart he planted,

I wip'd my eyes, and thank'd my stars
 * 'Twas Mrs York he wanted.

So ladies pray not guard your hearts,
 * A secret while I tell, O;

A widower with half a plum
 * Must needs be a rich fellow.

With fifty thousand pounds, I think,
 * I ought not to be daunted;

Some lovely girl, I hope, ere long,
 * Will say, Sweet York, you're wanted.