The brisk young widow

In Chester town there liv'd

A brisk young widow.

For beauty and fine clothes

None could excel her.

She was proper stout and tall,

Her fingers long and small,

She's a comely dame withall,

She's a brisk young widow.

A lover soon there came,

A brisk young farmer,

With his hat turn'd up all round,

Seeking to gain her.

"My dear, for love of you

This wide world I'd go through

If you will but prove true

You shall wed a farmer."

Says she: "I'm not for you

Nor no such fellow.

I'm for a lively lad

With lands and riches,

'Tis not your hogs and yowes

Can maintain furbelows,

My silk and satin clothes

Are all my glory".

"O madam, don't be coy

For all your glory,

For fear of another day

And another story.

If the world on you should frown

Your top-knot must come down

To a Lindsey-woolsey gown.

Where is then your glory?"

At last there came that way

A sooty collier,

With his hat bent down all round,

And soon he did gain her:

Whereat the farmer swore,

"The widow's mazed, I'm sure.

I'll never court no more

A brisk young widow!"