Bashful Young Man.They say I shall get over it, but no, I never can;You’ve no conception what it is to be a bashful man;I—I—oh dear, I quite forget what I was going to say,But would the ladies be so good as look another way?I’d give—I don’t know what I’d not, if it were not the case,But it’s a fact—I can not look a lady in the face;I’d rather face—I would, indeed—I know I am a fool—I’d rather face a crocodile, than meet a ladies’ school.At parties, when, like other men, I’m ask’d if I won’t dance,I blush and fidget with my gloves, and wish myself in France,And while I’m standing stammering, and hanging down my head,Some sandy-whisker’d coxcomb leads the lady out instead.I did just touch a lady’s hand, last night, in a quadrille,Oh, goodness, how my heart did beat! it’s palpitating still.While my young brother, fresh from school, to show you how I’m teaz’d,Said, “Frank, why what a ’muff’ you are, girls like their fingers squeez’d.”How am I to get married? I shall never have a wife,I could never make an offer, I’m convinced, to save my life;There’s the “quizzing” by the sisters, and the “questions” by mamma,And the “pumping” that one goes through, in the study, by papa;Then there’s that horrid honey-moon, the journey with a bride,And grinning post-boys looking back, and no one else inside;Oh my, the very thought of it quite takes away my breath,I’m certain, at the wedding, I should blush myself to death.
They say I shall get over it, but no, I never can;You’ve no conception what it is to be a bashful man;I—I—oh dear, I quite forget what I was going to say,But would the ladies be so good as look another way?I’d give—I don’t know what I’d not, if it were not the case,But it’s a fact—I can not look a lady in the face;I’d rather face—I would, indeed—I know I am a fool—I’d rather face a crocodile, than meet a ladies’ school.At parties, when, like other men, I’m ask’d if I won’t dance,I blush and fidget with my gloves, and wish myself in France,And while I’m standing stammering, and hanging down my head,Some sandy-whisker’d coxcomb leads the lady out instead.I did just touch a lady’s hand, last night, in a quadrille,Oh, goodness, how my heart did beat! it’s palpitating still.While my young brother, fresh from school, to show you how I’m teaz’d,Said, “Frank, why what a ’muff’ you are, girls like their fingers squeez’d.”How am I to get married? I shall never have a wife,I could never make an offer, I’m convinced, to save my life;There’s the “quizzing” by the sisters, and the “questions” by mamma,And the “pumping” that one goes through, in the study, by papa;Then there’s that horrid honey-moon, the journey with a bride,And grinning post-boys looking back, and no one else inside;Oh my, the very thought of it quite takes away my breath,I’m certain, at the wedding, I should blush myself to death.
They say I shall get over it, but no, I never can;You’ve no conception what it is to be a bashful man;I—I—oh dear, I quite forget what I was going to say,But would the ladies be so good as look another way?I’d give—I don’t know what I’d not, if it were not the case,But it’s a fact—I can not look a lady in the face;I’d rather face—I would, indeed—I know I am a fool—I’d rather face a crocodile, than meet a ladies’ school.At parties, when, like other men, I’m ask’d if I won’t dance,I blush and fidget with my gloves, and wish myself in France,And while I’m standing stammering, and hanging down my head,Some sandy-whisker’d coxcomb leads the lady out instead.I did just touch a lady’s hand, last night, in a quadrille,Oh, goodness, how my heart did beat! it’s palpitating still.While my young brother, fresh from school, to show you how I’m teaz’d,Said, “Frank, why what a ’muff’ you are, girls like their fingers squeez’d.”How am I to get married? I shall never have a wife,I could never make an offer, I’m convinced, to save my life;There’s the “quizzing” by the sisters, and the “questions” by mamma,And the “pumping” that one goes through, in the study, by papa;Then there’s that horrid honey-moon, the journey with a bride,And grinning post-boys looking back, and no one else inside;Oh my, the very thought of it quite takes away my breath,I’m certain, at the wedding, I should blush myself to death.
They say I shall get over it, but no, I never can;You’ve no conception what it is to be a bashful man;I—I—oh dear, I quite forget what I was going to say,But would the ladies be so good as look another way?I’d give—I don’t know what I’d not, if it were not the case,But it’s a fact—I can not look a lady in the face;I’d rather face—I would, indeed—I know I am a fool—I’d rather face a crocodile, than meet a ladies’ school.
They say I shall get over it, but no, I never can;
You’ve no conception what it is to be a bashful man;
I—I—oh dear, I quite forget what I was going to say,
But would the ladies be so good as look another way?
I’d give—I don’t know what I’d not, if it were not the case,
But it’s a fact—I can not look a lady in the face;
I’d rather face—I would, indeed—I know I am a fool—
I’d rather face a crocodile, than meet a ladies’ school.
At parties, when, like other men, I’m ask’d if I won’t dance,I blush and fidget with my gloves, and wish myself in France,And while I’m standing stammering, and hanging down my head,Some sandy-whisker’d coxcomb leads the lady out instead.I did just touch a lady’s hand, last night, in a quadrille,Oh, goodness, how my heart did beat! it’s palpitating still.While my young brother, fresh from school, to show you how I’m teaz’d,Said, “Frank, why what a ’muff’ you are, girls like their fingers squeez’d.”
At parties, when, like other men, I’m ask’d if I won’t dance,
I blush and fidget with my gloves, and wish myself in France,
And while I’m standing stammering, and hanging down my head,
Some sandy-whisker’d coxcomb leads the lady out instead.
I did just touch a lady’s hand, last night, in a quadrille,
Oh, goodness, how my heart did beat! it’s palpitating still.
While my young brother, fresh from school, to show you how I’m teaz’d,
Said, “Frank, why what a ’muff’ you are, girls like their fingers squeez’d.”
How am I to get married? I shall never have a wife,I could never make an offer, I’m convinced, to save my life;There’s the “quizzing” by the sisters, and the “questions” by mamma,And the “pumping” that one goes through, in the study, by papa;Then there’s that horrid honey-moon, the journey with a bride,And grinning post-boys looking back, and no one else inside;Oh my, the very thought of it quite takes away my breath,I’m certain, at the wedding, I should blush myself to death.
How am I to get married? I shall never have a wife,
I could never make an offer, I’m convinced, to save my life;
There’s the “quizzing” by the sisters, and the “questions” by mamma,
And the “pumping” that one goes through, in the study, by papa;
Then there’s that horrid honey-moon, the journey with a bride,
And grinning post-boys looking back, and no one else inside;
Oh my, the very thought of it quite takes away my breath,
I’m certain, at the wedding, I should blush myself to death.