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In Chester town there lived a brisk young widow
For beauty and fine clothes none could excel her
She was proper, stout and tall, her fingers long and small
She's a comely dame withall, she's a brisk young widow

So a lover soon there came, a brisk young farmer
With his hat turned up all round, thinking to gain her
“My dear, for love of you, this wide world I'll go through
If you would but prove true, you shall wed a farmer.”

Says she, “I'm not for you nor no such fellow,
I'm for some lively lad with lands and riches.
'Tis not your hogs and ewes can maintain furbelows
My silks and satin clothes they're all me glory.”

“Madam, don't be coy for all your glory
For fear of another day and another story.
If the world on you should frown, your topknot must come down
To a linsey-woolsey gown, where is then your glory?”

And at length there came that way a sooty collier
With his hat bent down all round he soon did gain her
Whereat that farmer swore, “Whew, that widow's 'mazed I'm sure
I'll never court no more with a brisk young widow.”

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