And gayest smiles and silks are worn
This night to catch the Heir.
With a heigho! Letty!
Hark forward, you forward Miss Betty,
To-night we hunt the He-e-e-i-r—
To-night we hunt the Heir!
Poor Heir! you feel our sport a bore,
We read it in your face;
If you’ll propose to one—no more
You’ll find us give you chase.