⁠I'm jilted, forsaken, outwitted;
⁠Yet think not I'll whimper or brawl—
⁠The lass is alone to be pitied
⁠Who ne'er has been courted at all:
⁠Never by great or small
⁠Woo'd or jilted at all;
⁠Oh, how unhappy's the lass
⁠Who has never been courted at all!

My brother call'd out the dear faithless;
⁠In fits I was ready to fall,
Till I found a policeman who, scatheless,
⁠Swore them both to the peace at Guildhall;
⁠Seized them, and seconds and all—
⁠Pistols, powder, and ball;
⁠I wish'd him to die my devoted,
⁠But not in a duel to sprawl.

​What though at my heart he has tilted,
⁠What though I have met with a fall?
Better be courted and jilted,
⁠Than never be courted at all.
⁠Woo'd and jilted and all,—
⁠Still I will dance at the ball;
⁠And waltz and quadrille with light heart and heel,
⁠With proper young men and tall.

But lately I've met with a suitor,
⁠Whose heart I have gotten in thrall,
And I hope soon to tell you in future
⁠That I'm woo'd and married and all;
⁠Woo'd and married and all,
⁠What greater bliss can befall?
⁠And you all shall partake of my bridal cake,
⁠When I'm woo'd and married and all.