Why Don't The Men Propose?

Why don't the men propose, mamma?         Why don't the men propose?     Each seems just coming to the point,         And then away he goes;     It is no fault of yours, mamma,         That everybody knows;     You fte the finest men in town,         Yet, oh! they won't propose.     I'm sure I've done my best, mamma,         To make a proper match;     For coronets and eldest sons,         I'm ever on the watch;     I've hopes when some distingue beau         A glance upon me throws;     But though he'll dance and smile and flirt,         Alas! he won't propose.     I've tried to win by languishing,         And dressing like a blue;     I've bought big books and talked of them         As if I'd read them through!     With hair cropp'd like a man I've felt         The heads of all the beaux;     But Spurzheim could not touch their hearts,         And oh! they won't propose.     I threw aside the books, and thought         That ignorance was bliss;     I felt convinced that men preferred         A simple sort of Miss;     And so I lisped out nought beyond         Plain "yesses" or plain "noes,"     And wore a sweet unmeaning smile;         Yet, oh! they won't propose.     Last night at Lady Ramble's rout         I heard Sir Henry Gale     Exclaim, "Now I propose again,"         I started, turning pale;     I really thought my time was come,         I blushed like any rose;     But oh! I found 'twas only at         Ecarte he'd propose.     And what is to be done, mamma?         Oh, what is to be done?     I really have no time to lose,         For I am thirty-one;     At balls I am too often left         Where spinsters sit in rows;     Why don't the men propose, mamma?         Why won't the men propose?