The Female Auctioneer

Well here I am: "And what of that?" Methinks I hear you cry: Why I am come, and that is pat, To sell if you will buy. A semale auctioneer I stand, Yet not to seek sor pelf: Ah! no—the lot I have in hand, Is but to sell MYSELF!

And I am going, going, going, Who bids for me?

Ye bachelors! I look at you, And pray don't deem me rude, Nor rate me either scold or shrew, A flirter or a prude: My hand and heart I offer sair; And should you buy the lot, I vow the breeches ne'er to wear, When Hymen ties the knot.

Though some may deem me pert, or so, Who deal in idle strise; Pray where's the girl, I wish to know, Who'd not become a wise? At least I own I really would, In spite of all alarms: Dear bachelors, now be so good, Do take me to your arms!