She'd pots o' money too, they say,
And lots o' queenly grace.

She wrote to Solly lots o' times,
Asking to be 'is wife;
But every time, t' reply came back,
"Not on your blooming life!"

This got the Queen o' Sheba's goat,
As well it might, you know,
For she were t' most attractive lass
On top of all her dough.

And when she asked if she could come
And visit 'im," You see,"
Said Sol, " wi' my two hundred wives
I 'aven't time for thee."

In spite o' this she packed 'er bags
Wi' gold and jewelled lace,
And journeyed cross the desert sand
To reach old Solly's place.

She thought that 'e'd be glad to see
'Er, with gifts of gold;
And in 'er Sunday best she looked
A smasher, so we're told.
  She knocked on t' gate o' Solly's house,
And Solomon, 'e came;
But when 'e saw 'er there, 'e called
The lass a naughty name.

"Two hundred wives I've got," 'e cried,
"I 'aven't time for thee;
I've told you so, so 'op it, Queen,
And work on Antony.

"Now look 'ere, lass, I like your style,
I know that you can cook;
But all my wives do that, and so
You'd better sling your 'ook.

"Wi' all the gold you've brought me, gel
(To get down to brass tacks),
If you come in, then I'll be caught
For Excess Profits Tax."

The moral pointed by this tale
To maidens is quite clear;
Don't throw yourselves at married men.
You'll end up like that there.

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