In this folk-like lament, a young woman watches other couples pass by on Martinmas Eve and despairs that no one comes to court her. Stuck at home with stern parents who scold her for the slightest sign of cheerfulness, she feels trapped and humiliated. Her mother calls her a shrew, her father only cares about spinning, and even casting a glance at a ploughman named Jerry brings nothing but ridicule. The poem’s mood is a peculiar blend of self-pity and dark comedy: her exaggerated sense of doom (“Tis death any longer to tarry me”) sits alongside the noisy domestic chaos of barking dogs and a growling cat. You hear genuine loneliness, but also a wry, almost playful awareness of how absurd her predicament is. The refrain “Nobody cometh to woo” becomes a mantra of quiet desperation, capturing the ache of wanting love and freedom while being utterly powerless to change her fate.
Nobody Cometh to Woo — Summary
On Martinmas eve the dogs did bark, And I opened the window to see, When every maiden went by with her spark But neer a one came to me. And O dear what will become of me? And O dear what shall I do, When nobody whispers to marry me-- Nobody cometh to woo?
None's born for such troubles as I be: If the sun wakens first in the morn "Lazy hussy" my parents both call me, And I must abide by their scorn, For nobody cometh to marry me, Nobody cometh to woo, So here in distress must I tarry me-- What can a poor maiden do?
If I sigh through the window when Jerry The ploughman goes by, I grow bold; And if I'm disposed to be merry, My parents do nothing but scold; And Jerry the clown, and no other, Eer cometh to marry or woo; They think me the moral of mother And judge me a terrible shrew.
For mother she hateth all fellows, And spinning's my father's desire, While the old cat growls bass with the bellows If eer I hitch up to the fire. I make the whole house out of humour, I wish nothing else but to please, Would fortune but bring a new comer To marry, and make me at ease!
When I've nothing my leisure to hinder I scarce get as far as the eaves; Her head's instant out of the window Calling out like a press after thieves. The young men all fall to remarking, And laugh till they're weary to see't, While the dogs at the noise begin barking, And I slink in with shame from the street.
My mother's aye jealous of loving, My father's aye jealous of play, So what with them both there's no moving, I'm in durance for life and a day. O who shall I get for to marry me? Who will have pity to woo? Tis death any longer to tarry me, And what shall a poor maiden do?