Copyright, 1892, by T. B. Harms & Co.
Words by Chas. H. Hoyt. Music by Percy Gaunt.
Do you know her, have you met her? if so, you'll ne'er forget her,
The pretty little widow with the laughing eyes of brown;
Demure in her sobriety, severe in her propriety,
But the life of all society, the jolliest thing in town;
No giddiness or giggle, no shyness and no wriggle,
That makes the budding maiden such a nuisance and a bore,
So bright in conversation, so free from affectation.
You can bear no hesitation, and you hasten to adore.
But when you come to tell her how you love her,
As never was a woman loved before,
Do not think you can deceive; don't expect her to believe;
She has heard it in the days of yore.
Most likely she'll refuse you, most likely 'twill amuse you,
She's got so many clothes in black, to mourning she must cling;
But if your prayer impresses, and beside, she rather guesses,
But along with her addresses, a husband is the thing;
She'll breathe hard for a minute, but, my boy, there's nothing in it,
It's only strict propriety that makes her tremble so;
She long ago has brooded on the question, and concluded,
Very likely before you did, if you'd be the man or no.
But when you come to put your arms around her,
And squeeze her till you can't squeeze any more:
If you think she's going to faint, she will fool you, for she ain't;
She has been there several times before.