F. Anstey - Mr Punch's Model Music Hall Songs and Dramas

Nature all the hens to crow meant, I could prove it in a moment,
Though they've selfishly been silenced by the cockadoodle-doos.
But no man of sense afraid is of enfranchising the Ladies.
( Magnanimously. ) Let 'em put their pretty fingers into any pie they choose!

They would cease to care for dresses, if we made them elec-tresses,
No more time they'd spend on needlework, nor at pianos strum;
Every dainty little Dorcas would be sitting on a Caucus,
Busy wire-pulling to produce the New Millenni-um!

In the House we'll see them sitting soon, it will be only fitting
They should have an opportunity their country's laws to frame.
And the Ladies' legislation will be sure to cause sensation,
For they'll do away with everything that seems to them a shame!

They will promptly clap a stopper on whate'er they deem improper,
Put an end to vaccination, landed property, and pubs;
And they'll fine Tom, Dick, and Harry, if they don't look sharp and marry,
And for Kindergartens confiscate those nasty horrid Clubs!

They'll declare it's quite immoral to engage in foreign quarrel,
And that Britons never never will be warriors any more!
When our forces are abolished, and defences all demolished,
They will turn upon the Jingo tack, and want to go to war!

( With a grieved air. ) Yet there's some who'd close such vistars to their poor down-trodden sistars,
And persuade 'em, if they're offered votes, politely to refuse!
Say they do not care about 'em, and would rather be without 'em —
Oh, I haven't common patience with such narrer-minded views!

And it's females – that's the puzzle! – who petition for the muzzle,
Which I call it poor and paltry, and I think you'll say so too.
They are not in any danger. Let 'em drop the dog-in-manger!
If they don't require the vote themselves, there's other Ladies do!

We 'ad a little outing larst Sunday arternoon;
And sech a jolly lark it was, I shan't forget it soon!
We borrered an excursion van to take us down to Kew,
And – oh, we did enjoy ourselves! I don't mind telling you.

The Chorus – For we 'ad to stop o' course,
Jest to bait the bloomin' 'orse,
So we'd pots of ale and porter
(Or a drop o' something shorter),
While he drunk his pail o' water,
He was sech a whale on water!
That more water than he oughter,
More water than he oughter,
'Ad the poor old 'orse!

That 'orse he was a rum 'un – a queer old quadru-pèd,
At every public-'ouse he passed he'd cock his artful 'ed!
Sez I: "If he goes on like this, we shan't see Kew to-night!"
Jim 'Opkins winks his eye, and sez – "We'll git along all right!"

At Kinsington we 'alted, 'Ammersmith, and Turnham Green,
The 'orse 'ad sech a thust on him, its like was never seen!
With every 'arf a mile or so, that animal got blown:
And we was far too well brought-up to let 'im drink alone!

We stopped again at Chiswick, till at last we got to Kew,
But when we reached the Gardings – well, there was a fine to-do!
The Keeper, in his gold-laced tile, was shutting-to the gate,
Sez he: "There's no admittance now – you're just arrived too late!"

"Don't fret," I sez, "about it, for they ain't got much to see
Inside their precious Gardings – so let's go and 'ave some tea!
A cup I seem to fancy now – I feel that faint and limp —
With a slice of bread-and-butter, and some creases, and a s'rimp!"